521
by April7739
Summary: Maria DeLuca and Tess Harding are best friends, but the two constantly clash when it comes to Tess's boyfriend, the ruthless and self-absorbed Max Evans. When wild-child Maria moves out of their apartment and in with their responsible, introverted friend Michael Guerin, everything changes.
1. Chapter 1

**Title: 521**

**Author: April**

**Disclaimer: Usually I try to be humorous with my disclaimers, but sadly, right now, I've got nothin'. Including no affiliations to Roswell. Suck-fest!**

**Summary: Maria DeLuca and Tess Harding are best friends, but the two constantly clash when it comes to Tess's boyfriend, the ruthless and self-absorbed Max Evans. When wild-child Maria moves out of their apartment and in with their responsible, introverted friend Michael Guerin, everything changes.  
**

**Category: Michael and Maria AU without aliens**

**Rating: M (language, sexuality, and violence)**

**Warnings: Some UC elements for certain couples. Dark and controversial subject matter at times.**

**Author's Note: This fic, though it may seem light-hearted at first, is the start of a VERY intense ride.**

Maria DeLuca pushed open the door to her apartment, and horror engulfed her. Pink walls. Used to be white. Now they were pink. Maybe _some_ people thought it looked good, but . . . no. It looked horrible. She had been expecting this, sure, but expecting it didn't make it any less shocking when she actually saw it. Apartment 315 was now officially the worst looking apartment in The Links apartment complex. Had to be. And it was all her roommate's fault.

"It's like a pink nightmare," she muttered, shaking her head in disgust. How much longer could she take this?

"Max, is that you?" Her roommate, Tess Harding, came out of her bedroom, all smiles and pigtails, but when she saw Maria, a frown robbed the smile of its place. "Oh. You're not Max."

Maria grunted in disdain. "Thank God for that."

Tess crossed her arms over her chest, glaring at her. "So I _suppose_ you don't like the new décor."

"It feels like Candyland," Maria informed her. "Why don't you just go out and buy a bunch of rainbow lollipops and make this place look even more preschool?"

"It does not look preschool!" Tess exclaimed in outrage. "It looks better than it did before."

"No, it doesn't."

"Are you kidding me? You actually liked those drab white walls?"

Maria shrugged. "At least they were normal."

"They were sickening," Tess insisted. "I've got a plan for this place. I'm gonna make it look like-"

"Candyland?" Maria cut in.

"Would you quit with the Candyland? It's not Candyland!" Tess yelled in a rush. "It's gonna be a beautiful Parisian atmosphere. I'm trusting my interior designer instinct, and so should you."

"Because that always goes well." A few months ago, at the end of summer vacation, Tess had decided to renovate the bathroom. Needless to say, a flood had ensued.

"Shut up, Maria!" Tess snapped. "I'd like to see _you_ do any better."

"I could."

"No, you can't. You don't even pick up after yourself. If it was up to you, this place it would a pig-sty. Oh! And then you would fit right in, because _you . . ._ are a little pig. That's right."

Maria raised a questioning eyebrow, trying to decipher exactly what that meant. "Is that supposed to be insulting, or-"

"Little pig!" Tess yelled again.

Maria grunted and wrinkled her forehead, trying to concoct a good comeback. "Well, you're a . . . big pig," was all she could come up with.

Tess gasped and immediately rested both hands on her stomach. "Are you calling me fat?"

"All I'm saying is, you might wanna stop eating all those cookies you have stashed in the cupboard and think I don't know about."

Tess stood in silence for a moment, a moment in which she was _visibly_ thinking, and then she denied it all, just as Maria expected. "What cookies? I don't own any cookies."

"The _cookies_, Tess!" Maria stomped into the kitchen, reached up into the cabinet, and rummaged around for the Oreo cookies Tess had stashed in the very back. "Aha! Right . . . _here_!" She took them out of the cupboard and tossed them at Tess.

Tess actually dove onto the floor and caught them like a mother catching a child. "What do you think you're doing, tossing around my cookies like that, Maria?"

"So they _are _your cookies."

Tess grumbled something under her breath and stood back up, carefully setting the cookies down on the arm of the couch. "You're just jealous," she said matter-of-factly.

"Of you?"

"Oh, yeah. You're jealous because I have bigger boobs than you."

Maria grunted, trying to cover up the fact that that was true. "Well . . . you're jealous because I have longer legs than you."

"You're just jealous because I have a boyfriend and you don't!"

"_Oh_! My god!" Maria shrieked, now at the end of her very-short-to-begin-with rope now. That did it. "That is the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard! You don't have a boyfriend; you have Max Evans, who, by the way, is the most _despicable_ person I have _ever_ met in my _entire life_!"

"Why have you always hated him?"

"Uh, let's see, shall we? A) He acts like he owns this apartment. 2) He acts like he owns you. C) He flirts with everything that breathes . . . and some things that don't. And 5) He's just a jackass."

"How is he a jackass?"

_How is he not?_ Maria thought in astonishment. "Tess, you're really perpetuating the dumb blonde stereotype right now, you know that? The guy dumped you last year for no apparent reason at all."

Tess shifted uncomfortably and mumbled, "He was indecisive. So? Does that make him the devil or something?"

"Yes!" Maria exclaimed. "The devil. That's the perfect way to describe him. Can we get him two little red horns so he can wear them all the time on top of his head and let all the other crushed-out girls know what a douche-bag he is?"

"What about your boyfriends, huh?" Tess asked aggressively, turning the tables on her. "I swear, Maria, you've got a new guy every week, and each one's worse than the last."

"That's not true."

"I don't know how it's possible to find such losers, but somehow you've made an art form of it."

"And somehow you've managed to find the biggest loser of them all." Maria smiled. "And he's gay."

"_Max _is _not gay_!" Tess said adamantly.

"Tess, he waxes . . . everything!"

"Hygiene's important in a relationship. Max understands that."

"But it's a girl thing to do."

Tess rolled her eyes and said, "Fine, he's metro sexual! Burn him at the stake!"

Maria smiled. "Now there's a happy thought."

"If you wanna talk gay, how about your brother, the _actual_ gay one?"

Maria stiffened when Tess said that. "Marty's been through a lot," she ground out.

"_Marty's_ been through a lot? Oh, please! _I've_ been through a lot!" Tess claimed. "He made me listen to Celine Dion's 'The Power of Love' for _twelve hours straight_, Maria!"

Upon that remark, Maria immediately burst into the song. "'_Cause I'm your lady!"_

"No!" Tess cried, pressing the heels of her hands against her ears in desperation. "Make it stop!"

"_And you are my man!_"

"Stop it!" Tess barked. "Just stop it!"

The only reason Maria stopped is because she didn't know the rest of the lyrics.

"You are evil," Tess said, pointing an accusing finger at her. "Pure evil!"

"That's my brother's favorite song, Tess. What's he supposed to do, just not listen to it ever again?"

"He's supposed to not listen to it for twelve hours straight. That's what he's supposed to do."

"You think listening to that's rough? How about listening to you and Max moaning and groaning all night long?"

"At least my guy makes me moan," Tess retorted.

Maria's mouth dropped open in shock. "Are you saying I'm a faker?"

"I'm saying you have to be since, let's face it, the guys you bring home . . . itty-bitty. Max, on the other hand . . . extra large."

"Ugh." Maria cringed, hating herself for the nasty visuals that appeared in her mind.

"Guess what?" Tess said. "The other day, while you were in class, he came by and we had sex in your bed."

"What?" Maria shrieked. If it was possible, she had gone to an even scarier visual place.

Tess nodded proudly.

"In my . . . in my _bed?_" That was so wrong on so many levels. "Why?"

"Well, last time we tried to do it in my bed, the headboard fell down on top of him. You don't want him to get seriously injured whilst he's inside of me, do you?"

"_Whilst_?" Maria echoed. "Oh my—oh my god. You know what? Never mind. I don't think I'll be sleeping in that bed anymore."

"Well, where are you gonna sleep?"

"Not here," she decided. "Not anywhere near you. I've put up with you for twenty-one years, and I can't do it anymore."

"What're you saying?" Tess asked. "Are you moving out?"

"Yes," Maria replied hastily. "I'm . . . totally moving out."

Tess looked shocked to hear that. "But . . . you can't make it on your own. I pay the rent for us. You don't even have a job."

"I'll get one."

"Where, a strip club?"

Once again, Maria's mouth dropped open in disbelief. "Bitch!" she shouted.

"Slut!" Tess shot back.

"Max-slut!"

"Random guy-slut!"

"_I_ will find somewhere else to live," Maria proclaimed emphatically. "And I'll be perfectly happy never talking to your fugly face again."

"Oh! One thing we have in common."

Maria seized Tess's cookies and stormed down the hallway to her bedroom. "Fine, stay here with your _pink_ walls and your _pink_ bed and your _stupid pink curtains_!" she screamed. "I'm packing up and leaving tonight."

"Fine!"

"Good!"

"Perfect!"

"Great!" Maria slammed the door shut and imagined how happy she would be when she got out of there and got away from her ex-best friend. For over a year, this roommate thing had worked. She and Tess had been best friends all their lives, but nowadays, they were just too different. They weren't compatible roommates anymore, and they never would be again. No question about it.

But there _was _one question she couldn't help but ask herself: _Where the hell am I gonna go now?_

_..._

Michael Guerin turned up the volume of his stereo (not too loud, but not too soft, either), and the sounds of piano music filled his living room. He smiled. Usually, soft rock music was his thing, but when it came time to painting, there was no background music like classical music.

He made his way over to his easel and began to pump himself up. His inner artist was his inner Rocky Balboa, and his brush was his boxing glove. Once he let loose, there was no holding back.

He swung his head to the left and rolled it back to the right, then shrugged out his shoulders and shook his arms and legs. What a great, relaxing Sunday evening this would be, just him and a new painting. No distractions, no interruptions.

He surveyed the paints and brushes lined up on his table, and even though he wanted to dive right in, he wanted to paint a masterpiece more, so he picked up a pencil and began to sketch lightly, the faint outlines of mountains, the pale shape of a tree. He was just about to pick up his brush and palette and start to mix a perfect shade of sky blue when there was a knock on the door.

He sighed in frustration, hating the fact that someone was interrupting his artistic flow, but he set his palette and brush down, turned off the classical music, and made his way over to his door, expecting to come face to face with his neighbor and friend Kyle Valenti when he opened it. But he saw a different friend instead, a much blonder, more feminine friend.

"Hey," he said.

Maria smiled at him. "Hey, Michael."

He just smiled back at her, not sure what to say. He wasn't used to seeing her on weekends. Usually she partied until Monday or Tuesday morning.

"So Tess and I had a little falling out," she told him. "I kinda moved out, and now I need a place to stay."

_Where's she going with this? _he wondered worriedly. _Please don't let her say . . ._

"Can I stay here?"

He knew he should have said something. Anything. 'No' would have been a good word to use, but instead, all he did was stand there and say, "Uh . . ."

"Great!" she chirped, apparently accepting that as a 'yes.' She slipped past him and entered his apartment. _His_ apartment. She cast a glance over her shoulder and said, "My bags are out in the car. Be a dear."

_What the hell? _She wanted him to go get her things? She wanted to move in with him? Was she crazy?

He stood at the door, dumbfounded as he watched her make her way over to his radio and turn it on to some pop station. He really wanted to say something, but no words came out.

Maybe he was the crazy one.


	2. Chapter 2

Tess decided to sit in her apartment and bask that evening, bask in the peace and quiet and, most of all, the newly-painted pink walls. She had spent hours on those walls, and she was proud of them. They looked good. They really did.

Once the basking became boring, she decided to do something. Even though she was supposed to have had an experimental living room design plan constructed for one of her interior design classes tomorrow, she decided that painting her toenails was a more pressing matter. She was just not in the right state of mind to work on homework. She rarely was.

She sat down on the couch with her feet on the coffee table and carefully brushed pink nail polish onto every toenail. She was just finishing up with her big left toe when the door opened and Max came in. He had a key, so he never bothered to knock.

"Hey, sweetheart," he said, taking off his jacket.

"Hey."

He set his jacket down on the arm of the couch and came to stand beside her, towering over her. "Where's the less friendly blonde?" he asked.

"You mean the sluttish slut who sluts herself out to random guys who like slutty sluts?"

He nodded. "Yep, that'd be the one."

She shrugged. "Who knows where she is? I sure don't."

"Why's that?"

"She moved out." That fact still seemed more than a little unreal. In fact, when Max had walked in that door, Tess had halfway been expecting for it to be Maria, for her to be back, chocked full of apologies. But she should have known better. Maria was stubborn.

"She moved out?" Max echoed. He didn't sound all that surprised.

"Yeah. We've been arguing a lot lately, mostly about little stuff."

"Well, where's she gonna go?" Max asked. "I mean . . ." He trailed off, a big and happy smile on his face, and began to laugh. "I have to be honest, I don't even care."

"She'll probably crash with Michael," Tess figured. "Or maybe one of her exes. I don't know. All I know is that she took it too far today. She was totally attacking you. I didn't like it."

"What'd she say?"

"Oh, you know, just that you're gay, a user, and a jackass. And she brought up our break-up again. Why would she do that?"

He sighed and sat down beside her. "Oh, Tess, she just doesn't know what she's talking about. We've worked past that. You and I both know that last year's break-up was the best thing that could've happened to us."

"Yeah," she said, not really listening to him for a moment. But when his words registered, she spat, "What?"

He rose to his feet again and motioned towards her recent art adventure. "I like the pink walls," he said.

_That_ perked her up a bit. "Really?" She stood up alongside him and surveyed her work. "It's a little bright. I'm thinking I'll tone it down a bit. Maybe a pastel pink, but not like a baby pink, 'cause I'm not pregnant."

"That's good," Max said. "Let's go have sex."

"Oh." They hardly ever did anything else anymore. "Okay." She let him put his arm around her shoulder and lead her down the hallway towards Maria's bedroom. _Or . . . I guess it's not really her bedroom anymore,_ Tess thought, unable to help feeling a little bit sad about that.

...

_What a day,_ Michael thought as he plopped down on his couch and picked up the remote control. He turned on the television and flipped to channel four to watch the news. This was his nightly routine. Watch the news, go to bed. Then wake up in the morning and go to class. Come back home and do homework. Paint in free time. Watch the news, go to bed. Repeat as necessary.

He was watching coverage of conflict in the middle east when Maria came out of the bathroom. Michael couldn't help but take note of the fact that her pajamas weren't so much pajamas as they were . . . just a t-shirt. She definitely was making herself right at home.

She sat down on the couch, brushing her hair. Michael watched in mortification as strands of silky blonde fell down onto the carpet. Did all girls shed like this? He was going to have to vacuum tomorrow before class.

"What're you watching?" she asked, setting her brush down on the end table. Before he could answer, she said, "Ew, are you watching the news?"

"Yeah." What did she find so gross about that?

"Hmm." She reached over and literally _seized_ the remote right out of his hand. He sat back and watched in astonishment, too shocked to say anything as she changed the channel to a station showing _Family Guy_. Three seconds into the episode, she already began to laugh. "Oh, that Brian," she said. "He's a dog, but he walks and talks. That's so genius."

"Oh, yeah," Michael said sarcastically, "'cause that's never been done before."

She just ignored him and said, "I love this show."

"_101 Dalmatians_," he mumbled, still trying to make his point about talking dogs in the media. "_Homeward Bound._"

"I think Peter's my favorite character, though."

"_Balto. Milo and Otis._"

She finally looked over at him and asked, "What're you talking about?"

"I'm talking about the fact that I was sitting here watching the news a minute ago."

"Yeah, that's kinda nerdy," she said, nodding her head as though she were in agreement about something.

"No, and . . ." She was missing the point. "Now I'm _not_ watching the news anymore. Because you sat down."

"Well, why do you wanna watch the news anyway?" she asked.

"I don't know, just to know what's going on in the world, I guess."

She made a face. "No, thanks. It's so depressing. Every night it's the same thing. 'Oh, somebody got killed. Oh, somebody got raped. The economy sucks and there's no hope of getting better. Have a good night, everyone.'"

"It's important."

"But _Family Guy_'s funny," she tried to explain. "Hmm, laughter or knowledge? Laughter or knowledge? I'll take the laughter." She smiled at him and said, "Come on, Michael. Take a moment to lol, you know?"

"Lol?" He made a face, knowing one that meant, of course, but unable to believe that she had just used it in a sentence. English grammar was really down the drain these days.

"And if you really wanna know what's going on in the world, just hop online. That's what the Internet's for. I mean, that and sleazy hook-ups." She laughed at her own joke, then added, "Oh, on second thought, don't get online. I'm gonna check my Facebook on the commercial."

Facebook. He didn't even have Facebook or MySpace or any of those dumb social networking sites. And he didn't care to. They seemed like a complete waste of time, and he didn't have any time to waste. "Alright, you do that," he said. "I'm goin' to bed." He got to his feet and started towards the bathroom.

"It's only 11:30," she pointed out.

"Yeah, and I got class at 7:30."

"So? I'd stay up until 3:00, at least."

"What time's your first class?" he asked her. "9:30, right?"

"8:30," she said, "but I never go."

"Oh, wow." He rubbed his forehead, feeling tired, and shook his head. Maria was . . . well, she was Maria. She was his friend, but she was out of her mind sometimes.

"Goodnight," she said.

"'Night." He ducked into the bathroom to brush his teeth before going to bed, but when he turned on the light, he was horrified by the sight that greeted him. His bathroom had been . . . feminized! Completely and utterly feminized. All Maria's girly things—her hair products, her make-up, her moisturizers—littered the bathroom counter as though it were the city the dump. It smelled like apricot in there. And worst of all was the fact that _his_ things—razor, toothbrush, and the like—were now all sitting atop the toilet in a tiny wicker basket. She was already taking over. It was the feminine invasion every guy dreaded. He'd already gone through it once with Isabel.

Taking a deep breath and forcing himself to remain calm, he poked his head out the door and said, "Maria."

"What's up, roomie?"

"The bathroom," he said. "It's a little . . . different than when I left it."

"I know, right? It looks better this way." She turned her attention back to the TV screen, back to _Family Guy,_ and laughed again.

_Stay calm. Stay calm._ He shut the door again and turned back around to survey his basket of supplies. That was just a dismal sight. Maria had been staying with him for less than seven hours, and she had still managed to completely transform his apartment into her apartment. But it wasn't. No, this was a temporary arrangement, just until she could find something better. Apartment 521 was still his and only his.

It became harder and harder to convince himself of that the longer he stood there and brushed his teeth while surrounded by bottles of her perfume.

Once he climbed into bed, he felt . . . relieved. And a little guilty, too, because he fell asleep wishing that he would wake up tomorrow and find Maria ready to move back in with Tess already. It was only a matter of time. Those two girls had been joined at the hip ever since he knew them, and long before that. They would patch things up, and he _wouldn't_ have to go insane. All would be right with the world.

He felt as though he'd only been asleep for two minutes when he felt movement in the bed beside him, but when he opened his eyes and looked at his bedside clock, he saw that it had been two hours. "Maria?" he said.

"Yeah?"

"What're you doing?" As if he didn't know. She was pulling all the covers away from him that very instant.

"Just going to bed," she replied.

And here he'd been under the impression that his houseguest would sleep on the couch like any normal houseguest. But then again, Maria DeLuca wasn't normal. He should have known better than to assume that she _wouldn't_ crawl in bed with him.

He supposed it didn't really matter. He could share a bed with her if he had to. And maybe she would surrender some of the blankets later in the night. And it was only a temporary arrangement. He just had to keep reminding himself of that. _Temporary, just temporary . . ._

His positive thinking all went to hell when she reached over and turned on the radio.

His eye's shot open again when Justin Timberlake's ridiculous smash hit "Sexyback" rang out. And she didn't bother to change it? Of course not. This was her kind of music. But why would she turn it on when she was trying to fall asleep?

"Music," he said. "You listen to music when you go to sleep?"

"Yeah, who doesn't?"

"I don't." He liked to fall asleep to silence. No lights, no sounds. Wasn't that the norm?

"You're a smart guy, Michael. You can learn," was her over-simplified response.

He thought he might be tired enough to try it until she . . . well, she seemed to dance a bit in the bed as she sang out the words. "_I'm bringing sexyback_!"

He grabbed his pillow and climbed out of the bed at once. It was clear that there was no way this could work.

"Where're you going?" Maria asked him.

"I'm just gonna go sleep on the couch," he told her.

"Okay," she said. "Goodnight."

He watched in envy as she snuggled down into his soft mattress, covered up with his warm blankets, and rested her head on his comfortable pillows. As much as he liked Maria, she was the epitome of the reason why he'd never had a roommate.

...

The only reason why Maria went to her macroeconomics class the next day was because she had nothing better to do. Once she'd finished hanging up all her clothes in Michael's closet, she'd gotten bored. Ergo, class attendance.

Since the professor was stupid and the subject matter was uninteresting, Maria never paid attention to what was being taught. She sat in the back row of the lecture hall with Liz Parker, a girl she had befriended in last spring's biology class. Liz was a science freak, so she was the only reason why Maria had gotten through biology; but when it came to macroeconomics, they were both as uninterested as could be.

"So, I don't get it," Liz said quietly as the professor droned on and on. "Who decided you had to be the one to move out?"

"I did," Maria told her.

"Why?"

"Because, unlike, Tess, I'm a generous person. I make sacrifices. Plus, she was transforming the place into a pink wonderland. I didn't wanna stay there anymore. And . . ." She hesitated for a moment before reluctantly confessing, "She's paid the rent for the past year, too, ever since I got fired from my job at the newspaper. So if we wanna talk fairness, it was only fair that I moved out."

"You worked at the newspaper?" Liz asked. "Like the university newspaper?"

"Mmm-hmm, my entire freshman year."

"I didn't know that. Why'd you get fired?"

"Because I broke this _harmless_ story about a professor who was sleeping with a student, who was sleeping with another professor, who was sleeping with the dean, who was in turn sleeping with an intern." She shrugged. "What's so bad about that?"

"Um . . . everything."

"But still, shouldn't they have fired the sleazy profs and the dean? Instead, the newspaper fires me. Little, innocent me. What's up with that, Liz?"

Her friend gave her a knowing look. "Innocent?"

She supposed that wasn't an appropriate adjective. "Little guilty me?"

"That's more like it," Liz said. "Oh, well, that sucks about you and Tess. You two are, like, best friends."

"_Were_ best friends," Maria corrected. "For a long time, actually. We were literally born fifteen minutes apart. And our moms were best friends, too, so they had delivery rooms right next to each other." She smiled fondly. "And we both had to go into intensive care for a few weeks, because I had undeveloped lungs and Tess had . . . I don't know, a problem with her butt or something weird like that. So we were hanging out in neighboring incubators."

"Aw," Liz said. "That's cute."

"Yeah," Maria agreed. "We've been best friends ever since we were born." It was . . . kind of sad that they had fallen out now.

"I don't understand what happened," Liz said. "You guys have lived together for years, right?"

"Yeah, we dormed it freshman year, and that was fine at the start," Maria said. "You know why? Because she hadn't met Max yet. But then she met him and she went all ga-ga for him, even though he treats her like crap."

"So that's why you two fell out? A guy?"

"Basically. That and the fact that little things started to get in the way. She'd always get mad at me that I didn't make my bed, and I'd always tease her for making hers. Stuff like that."

"Oh."

"But mostly because of Max. I can't _stand_ the guy. I don't know why she likes him."

"It's probably the bad boy thing," Liz concluded.

"But Max isn't even, like, the traditional James Dean, you know. He's more annoying than anything else. And I know I'm one to talk, because the guys I hook up with aren't exactly candidates for sainthood, but . . ." She shrugged. "There's a difference between hooking up with a loser and dating one. And Max and Tess have just gotten to the point where they're like . . . it's like _The Hills_." She couldn't think of a better way to explain it than that. "They're like Spencer and Heidi and I'm Lauren."

"Oh, no." Liz cringed. "Max and Tess are Speidi?"

"In the flesh."

"That sucks," Liz agreed. "You know, I can kinda relate, though. Last year, I hooked up with this guy a few times. Complete ass-hat. But I still liked him."

"Who?" Maria asked, curious.

"Oh . . . you wouldn't know him," Liz answered. "Anyway, I think I can actually understand why Tess would stay with Max. Nice guys finish last. It's a thing."

"True."

Before either of them could say anything more, the guy in front of them turned around in his seat and said, "Do you mind? Some of us are _trying_ to learn."

Maria smiled a fake smile and laughed an uncaring laugh. "Well, some of us are _trying_ to talk," she mocked.

The guy turned back around, and Liz rolled her eyes. "Rude-o," she mumbled.

"I know," Maria agreed. "Okay, where were we?"

"We were comparing your life to so-called reality TV." Liz laughed. "Anyway, if you moved out, where are you living now?"

"Fairview Apartments. So much better than The Links."

"Who are you living with?"

"My friend Michael," she replied. "His place is so much nicer than . . . Tess's place." It felt weird to think of that apartment as _just_ Tess's place now.

"Michael," Liz echoed. "What's his last name?"

"Guerin."

"Huh. I don't think I know him."

"No, you wouldn't. He doesn't go to parties or anything. He used to, but ever since his girlfriend's been gone, he's been, like, a total homebody."

"Oh," Liz said, smiling. "So you've gone from living with a committed female friend to living with a single male friend. Sounds like an upgrade to me."

Even though Maria blushed a little, it wasn't what Liz thought it was. "No, it's not like that. I don't think of Michael that way. He's just . . . Michael."

"Is he cute?"

She hadn't really ever thought about that before. "Well, yeah, I guess so," she admitted. "But he's not my type. He's too calm and studious."

"It's always the quiet ones," Liz teased.

"No, he's just a friend. I could probably try to hook you up with him if you want."

"No, that's okay," Liz said. "I'm doing friends with benefits these days. That's the only way to go."

"Hope it works out for you," Maria said skeptically. "Yeah, Michael would never go for that. I swear, he's, like, the nicest guy I've ever met."

"Did you go to high school with him, too?" Liz inquired.

"No, Tess and I met him freshman year in math 101." She laughed as she remembered the way they had shamelessly used him for academic purposes. "We didn't know how to do any of the assignments, so we convinced him to do them for us."

"Oh, so your whole friendship with him is based on . . . cheating." Liz smiled. "That's nice."

Maria laughed again. "No, it's more than that now. But that's how it started off. I'll tell you, though, sometimes I wish Michael would get together with Tess just to get her away from Max. It won't happen, though. The day Tess falls for a nice guy is the day I die of shock."

"She could probably say the same thing about you," Liz pointed out.

"And _I _could say the same thing about _you,_" Maria put in.

"I tried," Liz insisted. "I stayed with Kyle for a long time. But then Mr. Jackass came along last year, and I was just a freshman, and . . . well, you can't blame me."

"I can't," Maria agreed. "Bad boys are sexy, but there _is_ something to be said about nice guys, too."

"What's that?" Liz asked.

Maria smiled. "They don't get mad if you move in with 'em."

...

Michael was on his way to his third and final class of the day when he saw Tess sitting on the steps outside the Student Union, studying and texting at the same time. He had a couple of minutes to kill, so he approached her and sat down beside her.

"Hey, you," she said, putting her cell phone away. "What's up?"

"Nothin' much," he replied.

She came right out and asked, "Did Maria move in with you?"

He didn't say anything.

"Ha, ha!" she laughed. "Oh, wow, that'll be a picnic."

"I didn't even really say she could stay there. She kinda just barged right in."

"That's what she does," Tess said. "At the end of freshman year, when I told her I was moving off campus to get an apartment, I never told her she could be my roommate. She just assumed she would be."

"Oh, don't lie," he said, knowing the two girls well enough to know that they had been and always would be the best of friends. "You liked being roommates most of the time."

"Well . . . until lately," Tess acknowledged. "I'm telling you, Michael, you have to act fast. The moment she takes over your bathroom, it's all over."

"The bath-" He scratched his eyebrow, suddenly very concerned, and said, "She already did that."

"Already?" Tess echoed. "Oh, no, this is worse than I thought. Michael, you've gotta get her out of there. If I can't live with her, you can't live with her. Trust me, she'll drive you crazy."

"She already is."

"She's loud. She's a complete slob. You're not gonna get any painting done with her there. She's not gonna pay any of the rent. Oh, and just wait 'til she comes home drunk some night with three utter losers. You'll wonder how she'll have sex with them, all three of them at once, and if you're unlucky enough, you'll get a visual demonstration."

"Oh, great." That didn't sound encouraging. "You know, I like Maria. Maria's my friend, but-"

"Okay, see, you gotta change your thinking. Don't think of her as your friend. Think of her as your competitor. And that oh-so-fancy apartment of yours is the prize that's on the line."

That sounded even less encouraging, especially because it was all coming from the mouth of the one person who knew Maria best. "Wow, she's really not gonna be moving back in with you anytime soon, is she?" he concluded.

"She's not moving back in with me _at all_," Tess responded adamantly. "Maria DeLuca is the most difficult person to live with in the _entire world_."

"Oh, great," he muttered worriedly.

"Yeah, which is why you gotta get her out of there as fast possible. The longer you let her stay, the comfier she gets, the more you wish you had a gun so you could put it to your head and end your misery. If you let it go on too long, _you'll_ be the one to move out. Mark my words."

He made a face and said, "I'm not gonna move out of my own apartment."

"Oh, that's what you say now." Tess smirked.

He groaned and raked one hand through his hair in frustration. "I gotta get her outta my house."

"Mmm-hmm."

He sighed heavily, not exactly looking forward to it. He wasn't an authoritarian person by nature, but he was going to have to lay down the law and tell Maria that she couldn't stay there. Because she couldn't. And that was that.


	3. Chapter 3

When he arrived home, Michael thought his living room felt like a tundra. It was freezing. Maria was lying on the couch, though, in shorts that could pass as underwear, a pile of blankets at her feet. She had the remote control in one hand and a box of Cheez-Its in the other. Even though the TV was on, she was asleep, her mouth hanging open just slightly.

He cleared his throat and slammed the door, waking her up.

"I'm awake!" she exclaimed, shooting upright. She wiped at the drool on the side of her mouth, made a face of disgust, and then wiped off her hand on one of his pillows. One of the nice pillows his own grandmother had spent years embroidering. She was using it as a drool towel. Fantastic.

"Don't you think it's cold in here?" he asked.

"_No,_" she replied emphatically. "God, I'm burning up. In fact . . ." She trailed off and reached down to pull her shirt upward and remove it. She tossed it backward flippantly, and it landed on his head.

He handed the shirt back to her and said, "Don't just throw your clothes around, okay?" He really tried to keep his place clean.

"Whatev," was her response as she dropped her shirt onto the floor. "How hot is it in here, anyway?"

"No, it's not-it's not hot," he insisted. "It's cold. It's cold in here."

"Then why am I all sweaty?"

"Maybe it's your natural state." He shrugged. "I don't know. "

"I'm not naturally sweaty. Maybe you're naturally shivery."

"Shivery?"

"You shiver."

"Fine, I shiver. You know why? 'Cause I'm cold." He made his way over to his thermostat and said, "Oh, no wonder. It's 62 degrees in here."

"Sweatbox!" she exclaimed. "Turn it down."

"Down? Are you crazy?"

"No, I'm hot." She grinned and added, "But that's common knowledge."

"Yeah, you looked real hot when you were drooling in your sleep."

"Hey, tell no one about that," she warned. "And Michael, realize this: 'Tis a far, far better thing to be cold than hot. If you're cold, you can layer up. If you're hot, all you can really do is strip down. Now, I'll get naked if I have to, but . . ."

"No, no, just . . ." He decided to lay the issue to rest and said, "I'll go put on a sweater."

She smiled. "Good boy."

"Good boy," he echoed. "My god. Okay." He trudged into his bedroom, shaking his head and muttering under his breath, but when he slung his backpack down on the bed and slid open his closet doors, silence engulfed him. Because all the clothes in there . . . were _her_ clothes!

Dresses. Skirts. Chick tops and chick pants. None of it belonged to him. The worst part was all the shoes cluttering the bottom of the closet. There had to be fifty pairs of them. Strappy sandals and all kinds of boots and . . . none of his shoes!

_First the bathroom, now the closet,_ he thought in astonishment. She was crazy. She was a crazy person. And she was taking over everything, stripping more and more of his masculinity away with every takeover tactic she enacted. This could not go on.

Dazed, he made his way back out to the living room. She was in the kitchen, though now, still holding her box of crackers in her hand. She had found a can of Easy Cheese now, though, and instead of squirting the cheese onto the crackers like any normal person would do, she tilted her head back and squeezed the cheese directly into her mouth.

"Maria."

She set the cheese down (the can was now clearly empty) and swallowed everything she had in her mouth. "What?"

"My closet."

"What about it?"

Oh, she already knew! "What happened to it?"

She smiled innocently and said, "It got prettier?"

"It got prettier?!" he shrieked. "Where the hell are my clothes?"

"Oh, well, I threw away the really ugly stuff," she said.

"What?"

"And I put the other stuff in boxes, and I put the boxes under the bed."

"You . . . _what_?"

"Yeah, I already talked to my brother. He's gonna take you shopping Saturday so you can get some attractive clothes."

"But I-I don't want attractive clothes. I want _my_ clothes."

"All your clothes had paint on them."

"Because I'm a painter!"

She rolled her eyes and groaned. "Oh, technicalities. Here, have some crackers." She thrust the Cheez-Its box at him. "They'll make you feel better."

"No, they won't, 'cause I'm still cold, and I can't go put on my sweater because you probably threw away my favorite sweater."

"The checkered one?" she asked.

"Yeah."

"Oh, yeah, that's gone."

"It's gone," he echoed. "Great. Well, you know what, Maria? You're gone."

She gave him a confused look and stated the obvious when she said, "No, I'm right here."

"Not for much longer. You're gonna find somewhere else to live, and you're gonna . . . go live there."

She frowned. "Why?"

"Because, I live alone. I like to live alone. That's why."

"I bet you're really boring when you're alone," she said. "Masturbate, paint, masturbate, paint. Watch the news. _Ooh_."

"I do just fine on my own," he assured her. "Maria, you're my friend, but I can't live with you. You gotta go somewhere else."

She looked a little taken aback. "Whoa," she said. "Check you out, puttin' your foot down. Right on top of _me!_ Squashing me like I'm a little bug. Thanks a lot, Mr. Stompy Foot!"

"Stompy foot?" he echoed. "I'm not—yes, I am! Stompy foot. Puttin' my foot down. There you go. I want you outta my house by the end of the week."

"End of the week?" she echoed. "But where am I supposed to go?"

"I don't know. Go stay with someone else, get an apartment of your own, reconcile with Tess. The possibilities are endless."

She pouted. "This sucks. I just unpacked all my clothes."

He tossed his arms about in the air, almost losing it. "In _my_ closet!"

"Fine!" she shouted. "Some friend you are! You can't even lend me a helping hand when I need it. But guess what? When I get an apartment of my own and fail to pay the first month's rent and end up out on the street, shooting up just to feel alive, knocked up after a desperate night of prostitution, I'm blaming you!" She shoved the crackers box against his chest and stormed off towards the bedroom. She turned around at last minute though, stomped over towards the thermostat, and turned the temperature down to a chilling 59 degrees. "That's more like it," she said, smirking.

He clenched his jaw shut to keep from saying something he would regret and ground out, "End of the week, Maria."

"That's fine," she growled ferociously. "I don't wanna stay here anyway."

...

Some people said Friday nights were the best nights of the week; others chose Saturday. Max Evans passionately and steadfastly believed that Thursday nights were the best. Thirsty Thursday. Everyone got hammered, and it was always a great time.

The big action that night was surprisingly taking place at a high school sophomore's house. Some kid who had a rich dad who was out of town . . . he should have known it was a recipe for disaster when he invited a "few people" over for a "small get-together." Max didn't pity him one bit. So his house was now a drunken orgy site. He had no one to blame but himself.

"Hmm," Tess said when they walked in. "Looks fun."

"Yeah." He surveyed the room and caught sight of one of the few girls in the world he could never mistake. She was sitting alone on the couch, and that satisfied him. She was wearing tight black pants and a sparkling grey halter. Her hair was down and dark as ever. She looked even better than the first night he had met her a year ago.

He had to go talk to her, but he had to get rid of his girlfriend first.

"Oh, look, there's Maria," he said upon spying one of his least favorite people over by the keg with an astounding number of men around her.

"And she's getting plastered." Tess looked disappointed, but not at all surprised. "What else is new?"

"You should go insult her," Max suggested.

She frowned in confusion. "Why would I do that?"

"Well, you don't want to let her make a jab at you first. Then you'll be on the defensive end of a cat-fight."

"I guess . . ." Tess said.

"Go on."

She still looked a little confused, but she left his side to make her way over to Maria and the gaggle of guys. Max grinned and slipped off to talk to his former bed-partner. He approached the couch and leaned down to speak quietly in her ear. "Do you wanna have sex with me?"

Liz turned her head to the side just slightly, not even fully allowing herself to look at him. "No," she replied simply.

"Try to sound a little more convincing." He smiled, knowing that she was trying to hide a likewise frisky facial expression.

"I'm serious," she insisted. "Why would I wanna have sex with you when you're still dating your precious Tess Harding?"

He made a face. "I never said she was precious."

"Last year you broke up with her and hooked up with me. And then you ended things with me and got back together with her. Is that supposed to make me swoon?"

_Fair enough,_ he thought. At the time of their first hook-up, Liz had been little more than a sexual object to him; but ever since he had put an end to their secret sexual trysts, he had found himself completely infatuated with her. Flirting with her like this while his girlfriend was mere feet away was exhilarating.

"What if I told you I love you?" he asked.

"Please," she scoffed. "You don't love anyone. Except yourself."

He smiled. This was true. But since when was that a bad thing? "Don't you love yourself?" he asked. "Don't you love yourself every night when you trail your hand between your legs?"

She tensed, and he enjoyed it.

"Don't you love yourself every night," he murmured against her silky hair, "and think of me?"

The visible shutter that raced through her body was answer enough for him.

"I knew it."

...

"Shot! Shot! Shot! Shot!"

Maria tilted her head back and downed a tequila shot, following it up immediately with a shot of straight vodka. "Woo!" She threw her hands up into the air, and everyone cheered for her.

"Yeah, Maria!"

She laughed and danced around a little as a guy she knew from Spanish class tried to shove another tequila shot into her hand. She ignored him, knowing that she was fast approaching her limit, and asked, "Who wants to dance with me?"

"Oh, me!" everyone chorused. "Me, me!"

She tossed her head back and laughed in delight. This was a great party, full of hot boys who wanted nothing more than to get with her.

"Hey, Maria, you should do a strip tease for us," one of the guys suggested.

She would have done it for fun, but the very small part of her brain that was still using logic decided to try to make some money off of it. "It's gonna cost you."

"How much?"

She shrugged. "Fifty bucks."

"I'll pay it, girl."

She smiled. "Good."

"Clear off the counter, boys," the guy said. "Maria, get up there."

Just as she was about to do just that, she spied Tess coming towards her. "Wait just a minute," she said, grabbing an already-opened can of beer. She didn't care whose it was. She just held it in hand while shoving her way through the crowd towards her ex-best friend and roommate, and when she was close enough, she pretended to trip and spilled beer all over Tess. "Oh!" she exclaimed. "Oops, sorry. Looks like I ruined your new, pink dress."

Tess didn't look amused. "You did that on purpose."

No point in denying it. "I probably did." She smiled as her boys behind her hollered, "Come on, Maria! Let's go!"

"Nice friends you got there," Tess remarked.

"Nice boyfriend you got . . . wait, where is he?" Maria asked.

Tess ignored that question and said, "So you're drunk and acting slutty. Must be a day that ends in Y."

"At least I'm having fun," Maria shot back. "What is it that you and Max have? Miscommunication, trust issues, and bad sex. I'm _so_ jealous."

"At least I don't have a million STDs from letting every Tom, Dick, and Harry bang me." Tess smirked.

"Well, at least I don't have an ass of a boyfriend who's flirting with someone else as we speak." She cast a glance at Liz and Max out of the corner of her eye. Couldn't he just leave her alone? Didn't he realize she would never go for him?

"What're you talking about?"

"Let's see, I spy with my little eye, something that begins with B." She pointed at Max. "Bastard."

Tess turned around, and she looked truly worried when she saw Max talking to Liz. She quickly forgot about Maria and made her way over to them. "Max," she said. "What're you doing?"

Maria crossed her arms over her chest in annoyance, listening in.

"Oh." From the very first word she heard leave Max's untruthful mouth, she knew he was lying. "Liz is in my chemistry class. I was just asking her a few questions about a lab report we have due next week."

Maria rolled her eyes, unable to bear the obviousness of it all. "He's lying, Tess," she called out to her friend. She knew for a fact that Liz wasn't taking chemistry this semester. Max was just being a prick as usual, flirting up a girl he didn't stand a chance with because she actually _had_ standards.

Tess looked more angry with Maria than with her boyfriend, because she tugged on Max's sleeve and said, "Come on, Max. Let's get out of here. Let's go home and have sex on Maria's old bed. Again."

"Sure," he said. "I could handle that." He glanced down at Liz and said, "See ya," before wrapping his arm around Tess's shoulders and guiding her towards the door.

Maria stomped her foot angrily and decided to retaliate. "Well, come on . . ." She grabbed the nearest male by his shirt collar, an obvious underclassman who was mildly attractive, and asked, "Uh, what's your name?"

"Brad," he replied.

"Come on, Brad," she said, loud enough for her former friend to hear her. "Let's go have better sex than Max and Tess could _ever_ have!"

He laughed giddily as she dragged him through the crowd. "Okay!"

...

Maria shoved Brad through the door of apartment 521 and stalked in after him. She slammed the door and enjoyed the look of perpetual anxiety etched onto his face. Then she kissed him almost violently and ripped his shirt off.

"Oh!" he exclaimed in surprise.

She laughed.

"So you're a-a journalism major?"

"Mmm-hmm." She kissed him again, but for some reason, he seemed determined to get to know her a little.

"And you're a junior?"

"Yep. And _you_ . . ." She snaked her hands up his chest, pleasantly surprised by his body. ". . . are a freshman."

"How-how can you tell?" he stuttered nervously.

"You talk too much." She jumped up into his arms—he barely caught her—and shoved her tongue into his mouth as he staggered down the hallway. She pushed open the door to the bedroom, and he stumbled towards the bed, falling down on top of it, her on top of him.

"Ah!" Michael screamed. _Funny_, Maria thought. She hadn't even noticed him lying there.

"What the hell are you doing?" he demanded.

She smiled and rubbed her lower body against her boy-toy's erection. "Mmm, I'm doing Brad," she moaned in response. She sneaked her hand down between them to pull down his zipper.

"Oh, god!" Michael hollered in dismay. He sprung out of the bed, taking one of the sheets and pillows with him, and fled the room.

Maria laughed at her friend's hasty exit. It was too bad she had to move out. He was a good roommate.

...

Michael walked to art class with his best friend and neighbor Kyle Valenti that day, relaying last night's insanity to him.

"Wow," Kyle exclaimed in disbelief. "So she and this guy . . . while you were in the bed?"

"No, I got the hell outta there," he reminded him. "But all night, I couldn't get to sleep because of . . . the sounds."

"Whoa." Kyle seemed incredibly intrigued. "You heard what Maria DeLuca sounds like havin' sex?"

"Yeah."

"What's she sound like?"

"Like a crazy person!"

"Oh! No!" Kyle made a face. "What a disappointment."

"No, really, the loud one was the guy. I don't even know who he was. I don't know where she finds these guys. He was making barking sounds. Howling. Really disturbing."

"Oh, you're only supposed to make those sounds your first time," Kyle said. "Or so I've heard."

"Well, kudos to him for gettin' the job done, though. Numerous times. Until 6:00 a.m. Oh, I swear to God, I'm so tired, I can't keep my eyes open."

"Ah, relax," Kyle said as they headed into Richards Hall with the rest of the Advanced Painting II students. "She'll be outta your hair soon enough, right?"

"I hope so." Honestly, he'd been trying not to get his hopes up. "I don't even think she's gone to look at any apartments, though. All she does is go and party, come back and have sex. She never does homework, she never studies for tests, she never goes to class, she never goes to work 'cause she doesn't have a job . . . and she _never_ looks for another place to stay."

"Uh-oh," Kyle said. "Little birdie's making a nest."

Michael scrunched up his forehead in confusion. "What?"

"You heard me. She's settling in. Liz did the same thing when I got my apartment freshman year. You remember?"

"No, I didn't know you when you were dating her."

"Well, she did. And when we broke up, I had to get stern, you know? Wasn't fun, but I pretty much just threw her out."

"Yeah, but that's different," Michael reminded him as they trudged up the stairs to their classroom. "She was your ex. Maria's my friend."

"A friend who drives you crazy and takes advantage of your generosity."

"Well, yeah, but . . . she's still my friend." Sometimes he wasn't sure why. They had nothing in common, and they didn't actually hang out that much, but . . . she and Tess had always tried to be there for him, especially after all the Isabel stuff.

"You know, there could be some advantages to letting Maria stay with you, though," Kyle went on. "She's hot."

"I don't think about her like that."

"But if you did . . . she's hot." Kyle smiled. "Of course, she's not my type, though. The perfect girl for me . . ."

Michael felt his phone vibrating in his pocket and reached in grab it, tuning Kyle out somewhat.

". . . a little more compact . . . sweet . . . semi-innocent . . ."

He flipped open the phone and saw that he had a new text message.

"You know, somebody like . . ."

"Tess," Michael blurted.

"What?" Kyle shrieked, coming to an abrupt halt in the middle of the hallway. "Tess? No, I-I didn't say anything about Tess. Early Britney Spears. I was talking about early Britney Spears."

Michael held up his phone and said, "No, Tess just texted me. 'Tell Maria I painted the bathroom pink.'" He shook his head, smiling a little. "Those two . . . I hope they work things out. I hate being caught in between 'em."

"I wouldn't," Kyle said, once again venturing off into pervert territory.

Michael shoved his phone back in his pocket, and he and Kyle rounded the corner and slipped into their classroom just as the class was about to start.

"Tess probably wouldn't even remember me anyway," Kyle mumbled as they headed over to their easels.

"She remembers you," Michael assured him as he set his backpack down on the floor and peeled his covering off of his canvas. "I mention you all the time, and she nods."

"Really?" Kyle grinned from ear to ear, then attempted to cover up his entirely obvious crush by saying, "Well, it doesn't matter."

"Right." Michael smiled himself and surveyed the work in progress painting he planned on submitting for the class. It . . . wasn't his best. He loved painting, drawing, anything to do with art, but his work had been sort of bland lately.

He and Kyle got to work, both making the most of the class period, as their professor, Professor Adams, made his way around to all of his students to offer suggestions and praise for their artwork. When the professor came up to Michael, he immediately frowned.

"Hmm."

"What, you don't like it?" Michael asked.

"No, I like it," Professor Adams said. "It just seems sort of . . . depressing. Grey sky. Murky water. Dark trees. I'm not asking you to paint a sun with a smiley face, but . . . Michael, you seem to be stuck in a rut lately."

He was aware of this.

"In all textbook regards, it's a wonderful painting," Professor Adams said. "But where's the emotion? Even if you're painting a landscape, I should be able to _feel_ it."

"You feel depressed, right?" He shrugged. "Maybe that's what I was going for."

"Maybe." Professor Adams seemed skeptical, of both him _and _the painting. "Well, work with this some more. Maybe you'd like to turn in a portrait at the end of the semester."

He already knew he wouldn't do that. "I don't know."

"I still remember your final project for my Intermediate Art class last year." The professor smiled fondly. "Now _that_ was a beautiful painting. Maybe you could paint that girl again someday."

Michael stiffened, uncomfortable. "I don't think so," he said.

"Are you sure? She was a magnificent subject."

He didn't want to have this conversation. Ever. With anyone. Kyle seemed to sense that, because he piped up and said, "Hey, professor, mind takin' a look at my painting?"

The older man smiled helpfully. "Sure."

Michael breathed a sigh of relief as Professor Adams went to talk to Kyle. _Thank God._


	4. Chapter 4

Michael reached into the refrigerator and pulled out a carton of milk. He was about to pour himself a glass when Maria emerged from the bedroom with—shocker—a _textbook_ in her hand. She sat down on the couch, opened the book, and switched the television channel from MTV to CNN before she began to read.

Michael studied her skeptically for a moment, unable to believe what he was seeing. Studious Maria? No way. She was up to something.

He put the milk carton back in the refrigerator and went to join her in the living room. He plopped down beside her on the couch and asked, "What're you doing?"

"Studying," she replied simply. "_And_ watching the news."

"Why?"

She smiled a one-hundred percent fake smile and answered, "'Cause it's fun."

He gave her a knowing look. "Maria."

She sighed in resignation and said, "Well, you can't blame a girl for trying."

"So this is your last ditch effort to convince me you're a good roommate?"

"Kind of," she admitted. "Look, I know I'm not the best person to live with, but I'm not the worst, either. I'm not a pyromaniac. That's gotta count for something."

"Maria . . . I know you need a place to stay," he acknowledged, "but . . . you can't stay here."

"I had a feeling you wouldn't budge," she mumbled dejectedly. "At this time tomorrow, you'll be shoving me out the door. Well, good for you. But before you start doing your happy dance and rejoicing-"

"I don't have a happy dance," he interrupted.

"You should know that it's not that funny. I'm scared. I don't have anywhere to go or anyone to go to." She pouted. "I guess I'll just live in my car."

He pressed his lips together and let out a heavy breath, willing himself to remain steadfast in the face of her persuasion. "Are you trying to make me feel guilty?"

"Yes, is it working?" she replied eagerly.

It was. It _definitely_ was. And he _hated_ that it was. This was his apartment, his and his only. All he wanted was to be left alone.

"Did you go look at apartments?" he asked her.

"A couple, but they smelled like cat pee and grandpa. Plus, I'm not responsible enough to pay rent all by myself. I'm no good at that."

"Then get a job," he suggested.

"I'm no good at that, either."

"Well, you can't . . . you-you can't stay here," he stuttered. "Why don't you just move back in with Tess?"

"No way, Michael. That girl went from being my best friend to my best frienemy. I refuse."

"Well, move in with another friend."

"I don't have any other friends," she told him.

"Sure you do."

"Well, not, like, close friends. I mean, sure, Liz, but she still lives in a dorm. And all the guys I know, besides you . . . they're not roommate material."

_God, this girl knows how to work me,_ he thought, struggling with some inner indecision. "Well, what do you want me to do?" he asked.

"I want you to let me stay. Just for awhile. I'll be a better roommate, I promise."

He sighed heavily, wondering if he should believe her or not. Honestly . . . he didn't. A tiger couldn't change its stripes. Neither could Maria. She wasn't going to become a completely different person just for the sake of staying in his apartment, and that was a good thing. Maria was who she was, but . . . could he live with her?

"Please?" she begged.

He held his head in his hand, rubbing his forehead out of stress, and cast a glance at her out of the corner of his eye. She was giving him the puppy dog look; and damn it all to hell, it was working.

Against his better judgment, he said, "Fine, you can stay here."

"Really?" Her face lit up with excitement.

"Oh, god, what am I saying?"

"Thank you, Michael!"

"But this is still temporary," he reminded her. "You find another place to live, you go live there. You understand?"

"I understand," she said, smiling in appreciation.

"Oh, god, what am I getting myself into?"

She giggled and said, "Thank you, Michael. You're the best." Then she leaned in and pressed a big, thankful kiss to his cheek before slamming her book shut, springing to her feet, and skipping down the hallway into the bedroom, probably to unpack again.

He touched his cheek and smiled a little, hoping he had made the right choice. As much as living with Maria drove him crazy, he couldn't send her out there to struggle on her own. He wasn't that kind of guy.

...

Michael ran into Tess as he was walking out of his Art History class the next day. She stopped and asked him if Maria had moved out. He could tell that she was pretending not to give a damn, but she really did. Instead of standing out in the middle of campus talking to her, he invited her out to lunch since they both had a few hours to kill before their next classes.

Right outside the Student Union was a café infamous for its coffee-flavored ice cream. They went there, opted for smoothies over ice cream, and talked. Michael told Tess that he had decided to let Maria stay with him for awhile longer, and she just sat there looking shell-shocked. He waited for her to speak, but she was the personification of silence.

"Aren't you gonna say something?" he asked her finally.

"I would, if I wasn't speechless."

_Great,_ he thought. That didn't sound good.

"Wow, Michael, you've really gone and done it now," she remarked. "I guess I don't get it. Yesterday, you were giving her the old heave-ho. Now you're laying out the welcome mat. What changed your mind?"

He sighed and reluctantly admitted, "She did."

Tess gave him a knowing look. "Hmm, she's very conniving like that."

"She said she was gonna live in her car."

"She's a liar," Tess's responded quickly. "And you know it. Think of all the people she's slept with. Maria uses guys like Kleenex. Once they've served their purpose, she throws 'em away and reaches for the next one. It's all very cyclical."

"So you think I'm just another guy in the cycle?"

"I didn't say that," Tess was quick to assure him. "Things are different with you. You guys aren't dating. And please don't ever start, because you'll end up in the mental ward."

"I'll remember that."

"But she's still using you, Michael. She likes your apartment; she wants to stay there. So—surprise, surprise—she makes you feel sorry for her and you agree to it."

"_Indefinitely_," he emphasized. "I told her she could stay _indefinitely._"

"Oh, come on, Michael, you and I both know Maria chops the prefix off that word. _In_definitely, to her, means the same as definitely. Like _for all time_. Say goodbye to life as a bachelor. You just shot yourself in the foot. And just for kicks, you shot yourself in the other foot, too. And once she throws her first Apartment 521 kegger, you're gonna feel _tempted_ to shoot yourself in the head; but please refrain. Blood's a bitch, and you've got white carpet." She smiled.

He was pretty sure even a casual observer would notice the terror etched onto his face if they walked by and cast him a glance. "Well, this has been nice and encouraging," he mumbled sarcastically.

"Hmm." She just shrugged and slurped down the rest of her smoothie.

Michael was about to ask Tess whether or not he should exile Maria from the bedroom and force her to sleep on the couch when one of the most arrogant people he had ever met sauntered up to the table.

"Michael, Michael, Michael," Max said, resting his hand on the back of Tess's chair. "I know my sister left you heartbroken, but lunching it with _my_ girl? She's outta your league."

"Hello to you, too, Max," Michael mumbled, forcing himself to be civil. He didn't hate Max the way Maria did, but he definitely didn't like the guy, either.

"Hi, honey," Tess greeted her boyfriend. She puckered up her lips for a split-second as though she were expecting a kiss, but Max didn't give her one. So she skipped straight to asking, "How was your day?"

"Monotonous," he replied. "And it won't get any better anytime soon. I've got a meeting with my dad this afternoon."

"Gee, Max. The guy's not even dead yet and you're already taking over his company."

Max shrugged unabashedly. "It is what it is." He turned to Michael then and asked, "So, Guerin, you hear from Isabel lately?"

"Have you?" Michael asked in return, deliberately _not_ answering.

"No," Max admitted. "All I can figure is that she's too busy to call because she's off at some expensive beach resort having sex with someone who's not you."

"Max!" Tess cut in sharply. "Let's go."

"Where are we going?" he asked.

"The Union. I have to buy my cousin a birthday present."

"Sounds good." Max smiled at Michael and said, "See you later, man."

Michael didn't say anything. That guy _really_ knew how to piss someone off. People could say all they wanted to about him, but the fact of the matter was that Max Evans was highly intelligent, knew just what buttons to push and when to push them.

"I'm sorry," Tess whispered as she grabbed her purse and stood up from the table. She laid a ten dollar bill down to cover her portion of the expense and said, "Good luck with the Maria situation. Thanks for lunch."

He waved goodbye to her and reluctantly watched her head towards the Union with Max. He knew now that the Evans siblings were very much alike, and if Tess wasn't careful, she was gonna be abandoned.

...

Max couldn't help but smile at the slight mental torture he had just inflicted upon Michael by simply mentioning Isabel's name. It wasn't that he had anything against Michael, specifically. He just enjoyed making people's lives difficult, which was part of the reason why he would someday be the next Donald Trump. Of that much, he was certain.

"God, Max, you're such an ass sometimes," Tess mumbled angrily. "Why would you taunt him like that?"

"Relax, I was just having a little fun."

"No one else was."

He stopped right on the steps of the Union, turned to face her, and took his hands in hers, attempting to project sincerity when he said, "You know what? You're right. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said those things."

She seemed hesitant to believe him, but, as usual, she came around to it. "Just be nicer to him next time."

"I will." Different day, same promise. The kind he never kept. "Come on." He led her towards the entrance doors of the Student Union.

"What do you think I should get my cousin, a university sweatshirt or a lamp?"

He might have actually taken the time to answer the unimportant question had he not pulled open the door to the Union just as Liz was walking out. Their eyes locked, and even though she looked as though she were going in slow motion, she wasn't. She brushed right past him at normal speed, but he couldn't help fixating on her. Maybe it was the thrill of having her before but not having her right now . . . he wasn't sure. All he knew was that he wanted her back, wanted to bend her over the counter and put it to her good, because she'd really enjoyed that last time.

"Max."

Tess's voice broke through his reverie, and he disliked it.

"Are you even listening to me?" she asked impatiently.

He shrugged and smiled. "More or less."

...

Maria burst into hysterical laughter as her brother Marty told her a story about a party he had been to last night. She almost rolled off the couch—she was laughing _that_ hard—but he grabbed her arm and pulled her back upright.

"Whoa, cowgirl!"

She laughed again, the snorting kind of laughter you could only do in the company of siblings.

"Don't you wanna hear the rest?"

"Oh my god, yes," she replied eagerly. "Tell me the rest."

"Okay," Marty said in his usual feminine tone. "So I told the girl, 'Honey, I appreciate the offer, but you're gonna have to take your fashionista self off the field, 'cause I'm up to bat and I'm not hittin' straight. I'm hittin' a curve ball, you know what I mean?' And it was a home run, baby!"

Maria howled in laughter. "So what'd she do?"

"She left like I told her to. But here's the delicious part: At the end of the night, I hooked up with her boyfriend."

"Ah!" Maria half-screamed, half-laughed. "Marty!"

"If he wasn't gay before, he is now, little girl."

"Oh my god, _scandalous_!" she exclaimed, loving her brother's tales of sexual exploits.

"I know, I know."

"Was he good?"

"Oh, sweetie, it was the best sex of my life," Marty told her in all seriousness. "That boy rode me like the midnight train to Georgia!"

She collapsed into a fit of laughter yet again, and he joined her this time. They held onto each other's hands, both wheezing and gasping for air, and they only calmed down when the door opened and Michael walked in.

"Oh, hey, roomie," Maria greeted, struggling to catch her breath.

"Hey," he returned. "Hey, Marty. Haven't seen you for awhile."

"And that's just a damn shame," Marty said, "because you, sir, just get foxier and foxier every day. Am I right?" He turned to Maria.

"Pretty foxy," she agreed, smiling at her friend.

"You got kind of a bedhead look goin' on. Very 90's. Very post-modern grunge," Marty remarked. "I like it. It works for you. Your clothes on the other hand . . ." He turned to Maria and said, "Well, it's nothing a shopping spree can't fix."

"Shopping can fix everything," she agreed. "We all have to go soon."

"Fabulous!" Marty exclaimed in a sing-song voice.

"Yeah, I can't wait for that," Michael muttered less enthusiastically. He tossed his backpack down next to the couch and headed down the hallway.

"Where are you going?" Maria asked him.

"I'm gonna take a shower," he replied.

"_Oh_!" Marty cried out and bit down on his fist in order to silence himself at the thought of naked Michael covered in water. Maria laughed at him, and Michael promptly added, "Alone."

Maria laughed some more, and once Michael shut the door to the bathroom, Marty took his fist out of his mouth and said, "Now _that_ is a perfect specimen of a man. The dirty little things I would do for five seconds with that guy."

"Sorry, Marty," she said sympathetically. "Michael definitely goes for the feminine persuasion."

"And I can be very feminine."

"Except for your genitalia."

He frowned and groaned in disappointment. "Oh, it's not fair."

"It never is," she agreed.

"I'm serious. Straight people get guys like Michael. Who do we adorable homos get? Oh, Clay Aiken. Watch me swoon."

"Poor baby." She pouted, then inquired, "So if Michael _was_ gay, would you be all over him?"

"Girl, are you kidding? If that boy had one gay bone in his body, I'd be on him like stank on a hog. Bark on a tree. Britney on Madonna. You couldn't pry me away. I hate him for being heterosexual, I swear. And I hate you for living with him."

"You hate me?"

"I'm so jealous," he admitted. "But really, Maria, if I can't have him, you might as well."

She made a face at the idea. "No, stop."

"What? You're telling me you've never thought about it?"

"Thought about what?"

"Honey, you've known this guy for . . . how long now?"

"A little over two years."

"Right. And in all that time, you never once imagined what it would be like to have a roll in the hay with him?"

She thought about it and blushed as she confessed, "Well . . . maybe a couple times."

"See?"

"But that's not some huge revelation. I think about that with _every _guy I see."

"But you're in a great position right now, living here with that sizzling piece of man meat. If I were you, I'd get in an even better position: flat on your back with your legs in the air!"

"Marty, you are such a perv!" she teased.

"I bet he's huge," Marty went on to speculate. "Is he huge?"

"What? I don't know."

Marty gasped in astonishment. "You mean you've never seen it?"

"Not Michael's."

"Well, that's just wrong. Honey, we have to find out. Now's our chance. Come on!" He sprang to his feet, grabbed her arm, and pulled her up off the couch and down the hallway.

They crouched down on the floor outside the bathroom door, and Maria covered her mouth with one hand to keep from giggling. Poor Michael. He wasn't going to be happy about this invasion of privacy, but there were just certain things you had to sacrifice when you had a roommate who had a horny, gay brother.

They gently pushed open the door to the bathroom, only a few inches. Maria peered inside, and Marty poked his head beneath hers, peeking through the curtains of her hair. They watched in silence as Michael checked himself out in the mirror, knocked over Maria's wide array of lip gloss on accident, set it all back up again, and then began to undress. First his shoes and socks, then his shirt. Then his belt, then his jeans . . . Maria could tell the unintended strip tease was driving Marty crazy. And to be quite honest, she could see why. Michael looked pretty damn good in nothing but his skivvies.

When he pushed his boxers down to pool at his feet and stepped out of them, Marty lost it. "Mamazita!" he exclaimed, throwing open the door. He and Maria both fell forward into the bathroom, and Michael hollered and grabbed a towel to wrap around himself.

"Ah!"

"Mine eyes have seen the _glory _of the coming of the lord!" Marty yelled. "I knew it! I knew it was huge!"

Maria rolled around on the bathroom floor and laughed. Being a Peeping Tom was _so_ fun.

"What the hell do you two think you're doing?" Michael demanded, still trying to secure the towel around his waist.

"You, in my dreams," Marty answered unabashedly.

"Oh, god," Michael mumbled, holding his head in his hands. "Why me?"

"Because . . . you're gorgeous," Marty replied, pushing himself up onto his hands and knees and then onto his feet. "I know this. Maria knows this. You know this."

"You're gorgeous, Michael," Maria echoed, still lying on the floor.

"Thanks," he muttered. "Do you guys think you could . . . leave?"

"If you want me to, I'll stay," Marty volunteered.

"No, I want you to _leave_."

"Are you sure? Soaps and suds, no sexual duds."

"Marty," Maria said, raising herself back up to her feet before Michael could say anything in response to that little rhyme. "What does that even mean?"

"I don't know," he admitted, "but it sounds hot."

"It does!" she agreed.

"_Guys,_" Michael cut in emphatically. "Leave."

Marty pouted at Maria and said, "He's kicking us out."

"He's no fun," Maria agreed. "Oh, well. Come on, Marty. I'll cook Hot Pockets for dinner."

"Actually," Marty said, holding up his watch, "I've got a date at eight and I can't be late."

"It's 4:30," Michael pointed out.

"I know," Marty acknowledged, "but I have to find something to wear."

Michael just stared at him and shook his head.

Maria giggled and playfully hit her brother on the shoulder. "Alright, well, thanks for stopping by today."

"And violating me with your eyes," Michael added.

"We'll shop soon," Marty reminded her. "Hugs, everybody. Hugs and kisses."

"I'm not hugging or kissing anyone in this room," Michael said adamantly.

Maria hugged her brother and whispered, "Get laid tonight."

"You, too, girly." She could practically hear him grinning before he pulled away. "Alright, well, it's been fun," he said. "Farewell, sister. And Big Boy . . . TTFN." He waved goodbye and practically skipped out of the bathroom.

Maria turned to look at Michael. He didn't look amused. "What? It's better than little boy," she pointed out.

"What's TTFN?" he asked.

She was amazed that he didn't already know. "Ta-ta for now. God, Michael, haven't you ever watched _Winnie the Pooh?_"

"Uh, yeah, when I was in playgroup."

"Well, one of these days, we're just gonna rent every _Pooh_ movie and watch them all," she decided. "And you'll enjoy yourself."

"Why-why am I gonna enjoy myself?"

She smiled confidently. "Because I said so."


	5. Chapter 5

Kyle sat on an incredibly uncomfortable bench outside of Berman Hall that afternoon, pretending to be interested in reading his Italian Renaissance art history book. He had a test in a few days and probably should have been studying a lot harder than he actually was, but he found it hard to concentrate when Tess Harding was across the green, standing outside the College of Interior Design building, talking to a group of friends. She was like a homecoming queen, popular and bubbly and liked by everyone. Kyle definitely liked her.

He kept sneaking glances up from the pages of his book to gaze at her. She was really a beautiful girl, 100% his type, not that he was picky or ever had a lot of choices. He had been attracted to her ever since he'd first seen her. She and Maria had gone to a party a few months ago and dragged Michael along. Michael had in turn dragged him along, and he and Tess had sat in the back seat of the car together. They hadn't really said much, but the few words they _had_ shared had been magical. To him at least. She probably didn't even remember him now. They hadn't spoken or hung out since. Plus, she still had a boyfriend. It wasn't as though he stood a chance.

_Read, you idiot,_ Kyle told himself, trying to mentally glue his eyes to the words of the textbook. He couldn't help but looking up one more time, though. Tess laughed at something one of her friends said, head tossed backward, blonde hair flowing in the breeze, eyes sparkling with the gleam of life and sunlight . . .

_Oh, god._ Kyle felt mesmerized. He watched her laughter as an artist, in slow motion, and he knew in an instant what his next painting would be.

Right as he was imprinting the gorgeous image onto his brain, a fat guy (Ruben-Studdard size) sauntered in front of him and stood there, blocking his way.

"Um . . ." Kyle thought about tapping him to get his attention and ask him to move, but he didn't want to be rude. He scooted onto the far left of the bench but still couldn't see Tess. Well, this was unacceptable! He had to keep a watchful eye on her. Moments like this were the highlight of his otherwise dull life.

He leaned to the left, trying to peer _around_ the fat guy this time. He was still too fat. He leaned farther and farther, stretching his neck as far as he could until . . .

"Ah!" He fell off the bench and onto the grass, toppled right over onto his side. People laughed at him, and the fat guy finally moved out of the way. Well, better late than never.

_Oh, too much watchful eye,_ he thought, rolling over onto his back. "Ow." He reached up and touched his forehead and noticed he had a cut there. Embarrassment _and_ an injury? He'd really gone and done it.

"Are you okay?" the fat man asked him. "That looked really bad."

"I'm fine," he muttered, struggling to his feet. He cast another glance at Tess. The good news was, she hadn't noticed him fall off the bench. The bad news was . . . she hadn't noticed him at all.

...

After she got cleaned up that morning, Maria skipped out into the kitchen for breakfast. Michael was already awake, sitting at the kitchen counter, eating cereal and reading the newspaper.

"Morning, Michael," she chirped cheerily.

He just kept on reading his newspaper and flipped his spoon upward as though that were some sort of response.

She pulled open the cereal cupboard and frowned. He always had lots of cereal, but never the kind she wanted. She stood up on her tiptoes and tried to reach into the back of the cupboard to see what was hiding back there, but when she did, she accidentally knocked several boxes of cereal out of the cupboard and onto the floor. "Oops!" she squeaked as cereal spilled out of the boxes and all over the kitchen floor.

"What?" Michael asked in a panic. "What happened?" He peered over the counter and groaned. "Son of a . . ."

"My bad," Maria said, kicking the loose pieces of cereal into the small space between the oven and the refrigerator.

"What-what're you doin'?" Michael barked. "Sweep it up!"

"Michael, you're such an anal neat freak," she remarked. "I bet you're the kind of guy who vacuums the grass."

He grunted indignantly and denied it. "I've never vacuumed the grass."

She gave him a suspicious look, and he caved in.

"I did that _one_ time."

"I knew it!"

"I was seven years old. Give me a break."

"Seven years old?" she echoed in horror. "What kind of seven year-old boy vacuums the grass? Or cleans anything, for that matter."

"I did."

She nodded. "Because you're an anal neat freak. Do you see how we've come full circle here?"

"No, I just like my place to be semi-organized. Is that so bad?"

"It's weird."

"Why?"

"'Cause you're supposed to a guy."

"I am a guy."

"Guys don't clean."

"And girls, at least normal girls, don't usually go for the 'out of sight, of mind' style of thought when it comes to spilt cereal."

She scrunched her face up in confusion. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means sweep up the cereal."

"I will if you buy me Frosted Flakes," she said. "You don't have any. Why not?"

"Uh, 'cause I don't like Frosted Flakes."

"You should."

"I don't."

"Well, I do."

He stared at her in frustration and asked, "Do you ever give in?"

She smirked. "No." She picked up the boxes she had dropped on the floor and decided that Cheerios would do. But she was going to need some Frosted Flakes soon, or she was going to become very cranky.

"So, are you excited for our shopping excursion today?" she asked him as she prepared herself a bowl of cereal.

"Shopping?" he echoed in derision. "I'm not going shopping."

"Sure you are." She poured milk into her cereal and smiled.

"Where the hell do you get these ideas?"

"Michael, I asked you last night while you were sleeping if you wanted to go shopping today. And you went, 'Mmm-hmm.'"

"While—I was _sleeping_!"

She shrugged and put the milk carton back into the refrigerator.

"I can't go," he said. "I gotta work this afternoon."

"That's why we're going shopping this morning," she explained.

"No, I'm painting this morning."

"Why paint when you could be a style icon?"

"Because I don't wanna be a style icon. I wanna be a painter."

"_Michael._" She rolled her eyes in annoyance and sat down beside him at the counter. "No offense, I realize that's your thing. _Ooh_, blue and yellow and make green. _Fascinating_. But art's so boring. Shopping's thrilling."

"It's not thrilling."

"It can be," she insisted. "Especially when you shop with me and Marty."

"Oh." He cringed. "Marty?"

"Yep." She shoved a spoonful of cereal into her mouth just as there was a knock on the door. "Oh, that's him!" She hopped down off the stool and bounded towards the door. "Sexy!" she exclaimed, throwing open the door, but it wasn't Marty who was standing there. It was Michael's friend Kyle. "Oh," she said. "Never mind."

"What?" he looked offended.

"She thought you were her brother," Michael piped up in explanation. He had gone back to reading the newspaper now.

Kyle looked confused. "You think your brother's sexy and I'm not?" He shook his head and edged his way into the apartment. "There's something very wrong with you, Maria DeLuca."

"Haven't seen you for awhile, Kyle," she remarked, shutting the door. "Do you still live in 522?"

"Yep."

"Still live alone?"

"Unfortunately," he mumbled. "Hey, you guys got any Band-Aids around here? I got a cut on my head."

"Poor baby," Maria said, jutting her bottom lip out to exaggerate her sympathy.

"Hey, I could be concussed for all we know," Kyle said.

"What happened?" Michael asked, eyeing the small cut on the side of his friend's forehead.

"Oh, it was nothing," Kyle replied. "I fell, got a nice little scratch from a . . . twig."

"A twig?" Maria echoed laughingly. "Kyle Valenti vs. the big, bad twig. Twig wins easily."

"How'd you manage that?" Michael asked him.

Kyle shifted around nervously before replying, "Well, I was outside . . . in a place where twigs are. And I was . . . bird-watching. And I fell."

"Bird-watching." Michael nodded, clearly not believing him. "Okay."

"I was," Kyle insisted. "You know, it's not very often you get to see the rare . . . yellow-tailed . . . chirper."

Maria laughed a little. Kyle was such a nerd, even more so than Michael. And that was saying something.

Kyle rolled his eyes in impatience. "Look, can I just get a Band-Aid?"

"I'll go get you one," Michael offered, heading towards the bathroom.

"Thanks."

Maria cleared her throat and sashayed towards Kyle. "So, K.V.," she said. "Why are you still living alone? You and Liz have been apart for a year now. Shouldn't you have somebody?"

"Maybe I should, but I don't."

"Got anyone in mind?" she asked eagerly.

A blush immediately swept over his cheeks. "Not really."

She saw through that flimsy lie immediately. "Yes really. Who is it?"

"Just . . . nobody you know."

"I know everybody," she informed him. "Come on, Kyle, just tell me. I can play matchmaker. _Please_."

"Uh . . ."

"Is she begging you to go shopping, too?" Michael asked as he returned from the bathroom with Band-Aid in hand.

"No," Maria answered before Kyle could. "But that's a good idea! I mean, look at him. He looks like a little rat. He's in desperate need of fashion advice."

"You know, Maria," Kyle cut in, "I forgot how much I like you."

She smiled. "Thanks, Kyle."

"He was being sarcastic," Michael informed her.

"Oh, well . . . whatever." Before she could come up with something better to say, there was another knock on the door. "Now that _has_ to be Marty." She opened the door again, and it was indeed him. "Sexy boy!" she screamed.

"Sexy girl!" he returned. They threw their arms in the air and bumped their hips together, then spun around and bumped their hips together on the other side. Then they both started laughing.

"Was that supposed to be funny?" Kyle asked.

Michael shrugged in response.

"Hey, Big Boy." Marty greeted Michael with a flirtatious grin.

"Oh, god. Hey, Marty," Michael returned.

"And who do we have here?" Marty asked, eyeing Kyle eagerly. "Another fashion victim, by the looks of it, but there's a cutie underneath."

"Marty, this is Kyle. He's Michael's friend," Maria told her brother. "He lives in the apartment right next door and doesn't have a girlfriend, so if you wanna try to gay him up, now's your chance."

"What?" Kyle screeched nervously.

"And Kyle, this is my brother Marty. He likes boys. He probably likes you." She smiled.

Kyle laughed nervously. "Oh, ho, ho. Well, in that case, I'll just skedaddle. I just needed that Band-Aid."

"How'd you hurt your pretty little head?" Marty inquired.

"Oh, there was a . . . bird-watching incident."

"Oh, birdies?" Marty grinned from ear to ear. "Are you sure this one's not gay, Maria?"

She shrugged. "Sixty-five percent sure."

"Sixty-five percent?!" Kyle shrieked in outrage.

"Oh, I'm never gonna get my painting done," Michael muttered to himself.

Maria rolled her eyes upon hearing that. "Michael, paint later. Shop now. You, too, Kyle."

"No, I can't," Kyle said. "I have stuff to do today."

"What kind of stuff?"

"Important stuff."

"Jacking off?" she guessed.

"What? Yeah-_no_! Maybe-I don't know."

"Kyle." Maria looked him straight in the eye and decided to persuade him logically. "Think about it. You go shopping, get some clothes that _actually _look good on you, and you can say goodbye to dates with Rosy Palm and say hello to dates with Rosie from Delta Beta Gamma."

"I don't even know who she is."

"Fine, then you can say hello to dates with your mystery dream girl, whoever she is. How's that sound?"

Kyle thought about it for a moment, then smiled eagerly. "Let's go shopping."

"Oh, yea!" she exclaimed. "And Michael, you don't even get a choice because I'm forcing you."

He just groaned in response.

"Alright!" Marty yelped, clapping his hands excitedly. "The more the merrier. Let's roll, bitches!"

...

Michael didn't _want _to go to the mall with Maria and Marty and Kyle, but he ended up there for lack of choice. Maria and Marty took them straight to a designer clothing store, and Marty and Kyle walked up ahead, talking, while Maria and Michael lagged behind.

"Now, listen up, Kylie," Marty said. "The most important thing you can do for your shoulder shape is to wear shirts with collars on them. Loose collars, okay? No uptight, preppy collars for you. And absolutely no t-shirts. You can't pull 'em off."

"I can't?" Kyle glanced down at the t-shirt he was wearing, the same one he wore almost every day, and muttered, "That sucks."

"Now tell me," Marty went on, "this girl you like . . . what does _she_ tend to wear?"

"Uh . . ." Kyle thought about it and replied, "She wears a lot of pink."

_Hmm, wonder who that could be,_ Michael thought sarcastically. It was getting pretty obvious.

"Okay, pink," Marty registered. "If you wanna match with her, I'm seeing lots of brown in your future, mostly dark brown. Come with me. I'll show you the way."

Michael shook his head as Kyle eagerly followed Marty further into the store, astounded by the fact that his friend actually seemed to be enjoying this.

"Does Kyle have a crush on Tess?" Maria asked him once they were out of earshot.

"I don't know, probably," Michael replied.

"Figures," Maria muttered. "Too bad he doesn't stand a chance with her. Tess doesn't fall for nice guys."

"Look who's talking," Michael remarked.

"No, there's a difference," she insisted. "I don't _date_ jackasses. I just have sex with them."

"No, you've dated a few jackasses over the years," he reminded her. When he had first met her, she had been dating a guy named Joseph who eventually got kicked out of college for trying to sell marijuana to the Dean.

"Yeah, for, like, two weeks at a time," she pointed out. "Tess and Max have been together for two _years_. It's absolutely disgusting. I'll tell you, I don't know what you two see in those Evanses."

He chose not to respond to that, mainly because he didn't have a very good answer.

"But whatever." She flipped her hair back over her shoulder and said, "Let's shop."

"Let's not and say we did."

"What you need," she said, surveying him, "is a good pair of jeans."

"I have a good pair of jeans. I'm wearin' 'em."

She grunted. "Those hideous things? Michael, look at them. They have white splotches all over them. They look like cum-spots."

"It's paint."

"But it looks gross. Come on." She grabbed his hand and pulled him towards the jeans section of the store.

"Uh," he groaned, reluctantly following her. "I'm so bored. I could be at home painting a masterpiece right now."

"Really? I haven't seen you paint any masterpieces lately," she remarked as she began looking through the many displays of jeans.

"What do you mean?" he asked.

"Well, I looked through some of your artwork the other day. It seemed like you were kinda . . ."

"Stuck in a rut?" he filled in, remembering what Professor Adams had said to him the other day.

"Yeah. It's like everything you paint is . . . kinda the same. Trees and a lake, trees and a lake. And they're pretty trees and lakes; don't get me wrong. It's just . . . why don't you go back to painting people? Didn't you used to do that a lot?"

He'd stopped painting people about the same time the most important person in his life had stopped giving a damn about him. "Used to."

"You should start that up again," she suggested. "You can paint me sometime. It can even be a nude."

He laughed a little. Just a little.

"Oh, here we go," she said suddenly. "This is what I'm talking about." She took a pair of dark jeans off the rack and held them up for him to see. "These are totally meant for you."

He grabbed the price tag and made a face. "And they're totally a hundred bucks. I'm not paying that much."

"Michael, a good pair of jeans is priceless."

"Yeah, but bills and groceries and rent, which, by the way, you _will_ start to pay half of, are price_y_. I realize you don't live in the real world most of the time, but those of us who do have _expenses_ to pay."

She frowned. "I live in the real world."

"Not really."

"Well, maybe I don't wanna live in the real world," she said. "Did you ever think of that?" She smiled and tried handing the jeans to him. "Here, just try these on."

"No, I don't want to."

"Why not? You'd look hot in them."

That piqued his interest a bit. "You think so?"

"_Yes_. Come on, I won't make you buy them. Just try 'em on and see if you like 'em."

_What the hell?_ he thought, taking the jeans from her. She wouldn't let up until he did.

"Thank you," she said, actually sounding sweet for a moment.

"Where are the dressing rooms?" he asked.

"Back here. Come on." She led him towards the back of the store and approached a young employee who was standing there and wearing a set of keys around her neck. "Hi," she said. "He needs a dressing room."

"How many items?" the girl asked.

"One," he replied.

"Okay." She peeked under the dressing room doors, found him and empty one, and unlocked it with one of her many keys. "There you go," she said.

"Thanks." He stepped inside, and much to his surprise, Maria came in with him. "What the-"

"Thanks a lot." Maria shut the door, leaving the poor employee clearly stunned.

"What're you doing?" Michael demanded.

"I know you. You won't try these jeans on unless I'm in here making you."

"You're crazy!"

"Um . . ." the employee spoke up again from outside the door. "Miss, I'm not sure if you're allowed to be in there."

"I don't really care," Maria called back cheerily. "Alright, Michael. Take your pants off."

He could count on one hand the number of times a girl had said that to him. His entire body froze up in nervousness, and he just stood there, stunned.

She rolled her eyes. "Come on. It's not like I haven't seen you naked before." She grinned. "Me and Marty both."

"Am I just granted no privacy anymore?" he wondered aloud.

"Come on, Michael, you're wasting valuable shopping time," she whined. "Take off your pants."

"I don't want to."

"You don't _want_ to? Please. A guy's main ambition in life is taking off his pants."

"Well . . . that's true, but . . ."

"Uh, seriously." She reached down, surprising the hell out of him when she began to undo his jeans.

"Hey!" he yelped. "What're you doing?"

"It's called taking the reins."

"Now, wait just a minute . . . leave my reins alone!"

She unfastened his belt, unbuttoned his button, unzipped his zipper, and shoved his paint-splattered jeans down to his feet without hesitance.

"Whoa!" he yelled in astonishment as he stood before her in his boxers. "Maria!"

"You wanna try 'em on going commando?" she asked.

_Going . . . _"No," he shook his head. "Not with you in here."

She smiled. "You know, most guys would kill to be in your position right now. Several already have."

"Maria, I feel very awkward right now, standing here with my pants down around my ankles, you in front of me. Could you just . . . get out of here?"

"No." She was so stubborn. "Not until you try the new jeans on."

Once again, he sighed in resignation, kicked off his shoes and his old jeans, and did what she wanted him to do. He struggled to squeeze into the new and expensive jeans. They were a little snug. "Skin-tight," he remarked. "This is comfy."

"At least you fill 'em out," she teased. "Big guy."

"Hey, don't you even start with that."

"I don't understand why you get so worked up. It's a compliment."

He managed to zip the jeans shut, but when he did, he could barely breathe. "I don't think these are gonna work," he squeaked out.

"They look so good on you, though," she insisted.

"Oxygen looks better on me." As he surveyed himself in the mirror, though, he had to admit the jeans _did_ look good on him.

"Some of my jeans are way tighter than that," she informed him, "and I manage."

"These aren't jeans. These-they're a torture device," he claimed. "Nope. No way." All he had to do was let out a deep, relieved breath, and they popped open again. He struggled to get back out of them. He could barely even push them down.

"Here, let me help," Maria said upon seeing his frustration. She yanked the jeans downward and accidentally pulled his boxers right off with them.

"Maria!" he shouted, quickly pulling the boxers back up again.

"Oh, Michael, you have such a cute butt!" she exclaimed, giggling.

_Oh god,_ he thought. He had just unintentionally mooned his roommate. He felt so embarrassed.

"Just give me my old jeans back," he told her. "Give 'em back."

"But they're so-"

"I don't care if they're gross. Give 'em back. Now."

She reluctantly handed over his reliable pair. "We'll keep looking," she said. "I don't care if you shop 'til you drop. Even if you have to miss work, we're finding you a new pair of jeans today."

"No, I'm not missing work," he told her decidedly as he got dressed again. "You can't make me."

"Oh, yes, I can."

He shook his head in disbelief, not doubting that claim for an instant.

Suddenly, there was a knock on their door again. "Um . . . excuse me?" It was the same girl who had unlocked the room for them. "My manager says you're not supposed to be in there together. One of you needs to come out."

"On my way!" Michael called desperately.

But Maria had other ideas. "Oh, no, not so fast," she said, pressing her hand against his chest to keep him from leaving the room. She lowered her voice and whispered, "I'm gonna be bad."

"Oh, no." He knew where this was going.

She slammed her body back against the door over and over again and started making sounds as though she were having sex. "Oh! Yeah! _Yeah_! Fuck me! Put it on me, Daddy, put it on me."

"Maria!" he hissed.

"Oh, I'm a whore. I'm such a whore. Yeah? Yeah!"

"Maria!"

"Yeah! Yeah! Yeah! Oh, right there! I'm gonna cum. I'm gonna cum. I'm cumming. I'm cumming right . . . _now_. Ah!" She let her scream trail off and gradually smiled at him, nodding her head in approval of her own actions.

He just stood and stared at her in astonishment. "I don't even know what to say."

"That was so awesome!" she whispered excitedly. "I almost felt like I was really having sex."

"Well, I'm glad you did."

"Lighten up, Michael," she told him. "I was just having a little fun. You should try it sometime. You might like it."

He supposed he would. He hadn't had fun for awhile now.

They walked out of the dressing room, and Maria had no problem ignoring the looks everyone was giving them. She even patted the young female employee on the shoulder and said, "Thanks, hun." Michael handed her back the jeans and followed Maria back out into the store, blushing with embarrassment even though they hadn't actually _done_ anything.

Kyle and Marty greeted them with shocked expressions, both their mouths agape. "Was that real?" Kyle asked.

"Of course it was real," Maria lied. "Michael makes me horny."

"I do?" News to him.

She laughed. "Joking. No, it wasn't real. I was just playing around."

"Oh." Kyle glanced at Michael and smiled sympathetically. "That sucks for you."


	6. Chapter 6

Tess's night wasn't turning out the way she had hoped it would. Max had promised that he would be home early enough to take her out to dinner, yet the clock ticked onward and he was nowhere in sight. She ended up staying awake, sitting home alone until 1:00 a.m. She busied herself with some homework, mostly some sketches for her interior design class, and tried her best not to be sad. Max had forgotten about dates before, but she was just surprised that he had forgotten about dinner _tonight_ of all nights.

She sprang from the bed when she heard the front door open and ran out into the main room. "Max?"

"Hey," he greeted, immediately heading for the kitchen. "I am so famished."

"Dinner," she reminded him.

"Would you?" He smiled. "Thanks, sweetie. Just whip up a casserole."

"No, I'm not making dinner. We're _going_ to dinner. I mean, we're not going now, obviously. It's freakin' 1:00 a.m."

"So?"

She grunted in disbelief. "_So_? We had plans tonight. You totally blew them off."

"Tess, I told you I had another meeting with my dad."

"Until 1:00 in the morning?"

He rolled his eyes in frustration and came closer to her. "Honey, you know I love your brain as much as the rest of you," he said, reaching down to take her hands in his, "but it's not a brain for business."

She frowned. "What does that mean?"

"It means that, when two powerful people such as me and my father get together in an attempt to negotiate a multimillion dollar deal with a potential investor, we're bound to lose track of time. If our meeting _didn't_ go past midnight, then we'd be doing something wrong."

"I think it's a little _wrong_ that you didn't even call to let me know where you were," she pointed out.

"I agree. That's my mistake and I'll never make it again," he promised.

Somehow, she really doubted that. He had promised the same thing many times before.

"Honey, please don't be mad at me," he pleaded. "I've had a long day. I don't wanna fight. I'd just like to get something to eat, lie down in bed, and have you give me a foot massage before I got to sleep. How's that sound?"

She didn't say anything.

He smiled and gave her a kiss on the cheek. "That's a good girl." He let go of her hands and started down the hallway towards Maria's bedroom . . . their bedroom, now.

"Max," she called.

He slowly turned around.

She stared right at him and reminded him exactly _why_ this night had been so important to her, why one simple, elegant dinner shouldn't have been too much to ask. "It's my birthday."

He acted as though he remembered, but she doubted he did. This was the third birthday she was celebrating with Max, and the third birthday where the celebration never happened.

"Happy birthday," he said before ducking into the bedroom. Then he called out, "You think you can make me that dinner now?"

She clenched her jaw shut, feeling angry. This just wasn't fair.

...

After work, Michael came home, took a shower, watched the news, and went to bed. While he was sleeping, though, he thought about all these things he needed to discuss with Maria. She had been living with him for almost two weeks now, and she still wasn't being a very good roommate. If they were going to continue on this way, he had to lay down the law about some things.

He sprang out of bed and strode out into the hallway. "Mandatory meeting!" he called. "You hear that? Mandatory meeting."

Maria barely glanced up from the computer screen. As usual, it was 3:00 a.m., and instead of sleeping, she was checking her Facebook.

"Are you deaf?" he asked her.

"No. Why are you awake? You're usually boring and asleep right now."

He rolled his eyes at that comment and repeated, "Mandatory meeting."

"Says who?"

"Me."

"Who's all attending this meeting?"

"Everyone who lives in 521."

She wrinkled her face in confusion. "But that's just us."

"Yeah, it's a . . . just—come sit down. I need to talk to you."

She sighed impatiently, stood up from the computer, and flung herself on the couch. "What's up?"

He sat down beside her and said, "I was doin' some thinking."

"While you were sleeping?"

"Yes."

"About what?"

"Just shut up so I can tell you."

She moved two fingers across her mouth, pretending to zip her lips.

"Alright," he said. "You've been living here for, what, twelve days now? Thirteen? Or rather, I've been _providing you_ with a _temporary residence _out of the _goodness of my heart._"

She nodded mutely.

"Right, so . . . if you're gonna continue to . . . take advantage of my services, I-"

She interrupted him with snorting laughter.

"What?" he asked. "What's so funny?"

"_That_. Take advantage of your services? It's not like we're fucking."

He chuckled lightly in embarrassment. "No, that's not what I meant."

"But, if you want me to, I can tell people we're gettin' it on every night. That might make you more popular."

"No, don't tell people that."

"You sure?"

"I'm sure."

"Okay." She reached onto the coffee table and picked up a bag of potato chips that she had apparently neglected to put away earlier. "Want some?" she asked, thrusting the bag towards him.

"No, I want—I wanna have the mandatory meeting. Can we do that? And then I wanna go back to bed."

"Well, hurry up then," she said, stuffing a handful of chips into her mouth.

"Quit interrupting me."

"Hurry up."

He rolled his eyes again and pulled out his mental to-do list. "Alright. First order of business: rent. It's not bad. Five-hundred bucks a month gets us our cable, wireless internet, gas/electricity, all that jazz. Now if we split that half and half, how much do you need to pay?"

She thought about it for a second, then made a face. "Oh, Michael, don't make me do math. You know I hate that."

He sighed impatiently. "Two-fifty. That's how much you're gonna owe each month. Think you can handle that?"

"No," she answered right away.

"Why not?"

"Because, I just can't. I don't have two-hundred and fifty dollars to just toss around each month."

"Oh, really? Because today's shopping spree would beg to differ."

She glared at him. "What's _that_ supposed to mean?"

"It means, maybe you _would_ have two-hundred and fifty dollars if you didn't spend it all on designer jeans."

"You're asking me to cut back on my shopping?" She huffed in outrage. "No way! Shopping is a DeLuca sibling tradition. It's when Marty and I do our best bonding. Okay, if you're asking me to cut back on my shopping, you're asking me to cut back on my relationship with my brother."

"Where do you get the money anyway?"

"My mom."

"Then maybe you should get a job."

She cringed. "Ew, gross."

"Gross?" She thought jobs were _gross_?

"Yeah, I'm not into that. I don't wanna get a job."

"You're gonna have to eventually," he pointed out. "Haven't you had a job before?"

"Yeah. Freshman year I worked on the university paper. Everyone forgets that."

"Go back to work there," he suggested.

She shook her head emphatically. "Uh-uh. _Ugly_ firing. That's not an option."

"Well, the movie store down the street's hiring." He shrugged. "Worth a shot."

"I could puke a better job than that," she claimed. "Next."

"Fine, how about waitressing somewhere?"

She laughed. "Seriously? Do I _look_ like a waitress to you? I waitressed for an entire year in high school, _almost_ put a gun to my head. It's, like, the worst job ever."

"I'm sure it's not."

"That's out of the question," she said decidedly. "Maybe I could just charge money for sex."

He bit his lip, nodding in contemplation, and quietly informed her, "That would make you a prostitute."

She thought about it for a moment, then decided, "I'm okay with that."

"No, you're not," he said matter-of-factly. "Look, Maria, I don't care where you work just as long as you work somewhere. Okay?" She didn't answer, so he chose to assume she understood him. "Okay. Now that we got that outta the way . . ." He leaned forward and picked a half-empty bottle of beer up off the coffee table. "This."

"What, now you got a problem with Budweiser?" she asked.

"No."

"You're anti-beer? Anti-alcohol?" she kept guessing. "Give me that." She snatched it from his hand, took a drink, and set the bottle back down on the coffee table.

"Use a coaster," he instructed, picking the bottle back up again. "Look at these rings all over the coffee table. They weren't there before you got here."

"I don't see any rings," she said. "You're paranoid."

"No, I'm not. Use a coaster."

"Who uses coasters anymore?"

"Hey, you're in my house, remember?"

"I live here, too," she pointed out.

"Yeah, but until you start paying your fair share of the rent, you follow my rules."

"Fine. Then I'll get a job, pay the rent, and _not_ use a coaster." She smirked in satisfaction. "Set yourself up for that."

"Just use a coaster, please," he begged.

"Fine, I'll try," she gave in. "I swear, Michael, you're like my grandpa."

"What?"

"He's a stick in the mud, too."

"No, I'm not—I'm not a stick in the mud," he insisted. "I just don't want you to ruin my entire house. And unless you take your _grandpa _into dressing rooms and de-pants him . . ."

"Oh, get over it," she said. "Come on, let's keep this joy train moving. What's next on the lecture list?"

"Uh . . ." He tapped the beer bottle with his fingertips trying to remember. "Oh, right. Well, I guess we could skip the part about who gets the bed since we're kinda just sharing that. Quit hogging all the covers, though."

She rolled her eyes.

"Oh, that reminds me: sheets. If you have sex on 'em, wash 'em. I think that's easy enough."

"Whatever," she said flippantly. "Are you done?"

"Not yet."

She completely ignored him and said, "Good. My turn. Okay, here's the issue I'm having with this place: It's very nice. Very clean. Very organized, everything in its correct place. But it's lacking a little . . . _oomph_."

"Oomph?" That confused him.

"Yeah, it's very . . . lifeless," she explained. "Like it doesn't have a life-force."

He scrunched up his forehead, puzzled by that remark. "What do you mean? Of course it has a life force. I've lived here for over a year now. It has _my_ life-force."

"Well, it's not a very lively life-force," she said. "No offense."

He didn't like where this was headed. "Maria, what are you getting at?"

"A party," she said, smiling. "We should throw a party."

He didn't even know where to start with the bad when it came to that idea, so he dismissed it outright, immediately. "No. No way."

"Oh, come on. Get some music going, some decorations, some bumping and grinding bodies . . . it's exactly what this place needs."

"We're not having a party. Forget about it."

"I will _not _forget about it," she protested. "Do you realize that, within days, we'll be basking in the raunchiness and sexiness of Halloween? That is, like, the most sacred holiday."

"Since when?"

"Since every year, I throw a humungous Halloween bash. Everyone comes. It's, like, _the_ place to be. Don't you get it, Michael? If I don't throw a party this year, people are gonna think there's something seriously wrong with me. They're gonna be pissed."

"And I'm supposed to care?"

She pouted. "You care more about this lifeless apartment than my fun."

"Well, yes, as a matter of fact."

"_Please_, Michael," she begged. "Just let me throw the party. It'll do you good. This place can have a better life-force."

He rubbed his forehead in his hands, suddenly wishing he had never gotten out of bed. This sounded like a horrible idea. "Why don't you find somewhere else to have it?" he suggested. "Like an abandoned barn."

"An _abandoned barn_?" she resounded in horror. "Are you kidding me? I can't have my infamous, _astounding_ Halloween party in an _abandoned barn_."

"Well, you can't have it here, either."

"Please?" She pouted adorably, really working on him. "Michael, I will use coasters for the rest of my life. I'll let you have all the covers at night. I'll get a really good job. Just _please_ let me have this party."

He felt himself giving in once again, the same way he always did with her. Why was she so good at getting to him like this?

"I'll tone it down," she promised him. "It doesn't have to be some huge party. It won't get too wild. It'll just be people we know."

"People we know?" He wasn't sure whether to believe her or not.

"Yeah. Not even a party, really. Just a-a small gathering. Very elite."

"Gathering." He would only believe it when he saw it. "Elite?"

"Yes," she insisted. "Just a cool, calm, collected Halloween party—gathering. Nothing more."

"Nothing more?"

"Mmm-hmm."

He had a feeling she was totally playing him, but he resigned to it anyway. "Fine, you can do that."

"Really?" She squealed excitedly and clapped her hands together. "Oh, Michael, I'm sorry I called you a stick in the mud. You're not a stick in the mud. You're the best!" She wrapped her arms around his neck and hugged him tightly.

"You promised," he reminded her, sort of dreading what Saturday night had in store for him now.

"I promised," she agreed. "Small gathering. I got it."

...

"_Big _party Friday night at Fairview 521!" Maria called as she stood out on the steps of the Student Union the next morning handing out bright orange and hot pink flyers to anyone and everyone who walked by. "Be there or be boring!"

Brad, the guy she had slept with a few nights back, came up to her and tried to talk to her, but she shoved a flyer at him and said, "Halloween party. Bring all your friends," causing him to walk away resignedly.

Flyer after flyer left her hand. She really didn't know most of the people she was inviting, but chances were, they knew her. "Party at Fairview 521. Bring _everyone_ you've ever met!" The party was probably going to be a _little_ bigger than Michael anticipated, but he could deal. He always did. "Halloween party. Bring all your . . ." She trailed off abruptly when she noticed an all too familiar former friend in front of her. "Oh," she said. "Well, I guess you don't _have_ any friends anymore."

Tess didn't even flinch. "I have Max."

"Except he's not a friend. Jackass and dictator, sure, but there's no friendly there."

Tess actually smiled a little. "God, you've always been so jealous of me," she remarked.

Maria laughed in disbelief. "_Me_, jealous of _you_? Not in this lifetime."

"Give me that," Tess said, seizing a hot pink flyer out of Maria's hand. "I should've known you'd still have this stupid Halloween party. Does Michael know about this?"

"Of course he knows," Maria replied. "We have great communication skills."

"He'll kick you out once the party gets too out of control."

"No, he won't. He loves living with me."

Tess laughed. "Yeah, right."

"Unlike you, he's a good friend."

"Hey, I didn't kick you out," Tess reminded her quickly. "You _chose_ to move out. Personally, I think that was the best day ever."

"So do I," Maria agreed. "In fact, I don't miss living with you one bit."

"I definitely don't miss living with a slob," Tess said. "Sex-addict. Selfish whore."

"Brainless bimbo," Maria retorted. She took her flyer back from Tess and said, "Just so you know, you're not invited to the party."

Tess grinned smugly. "Actually, just so _you_ know, I am."

Maria wrinkled her forehead in confusion. "What?"

Tess kept smiling and took her cell phone out of her purse. She pressed a few buttons, then read a text message aloud. "'You should come to Maria's Halloween party –Michael.'"

Maria clenched her jaw shut to keep from screaming. What was he thinking? Or was he even thinking at all? Her ex-best friend at her very important, very cool Halloween party? That sounded like a recipe for disaster; but she decided to play it cool. "Fine. Dress up, show up. I don't care. It just means you don't have anything better to do."

"Oh, I'll be there," Tess assured her, "and I'll bring Max with me."

Maria groaned.

Tess nodded, still smiling. "That's right. And for your information, I have plenty of _better_ things to do, but none so entertaining as seeing you squirm."

Maria shrugged. "Doesn't bother me. So you and Max come to my party. So what? No one's gonna notice you anyway."

"Because they're gonna be too busy looking at you?" Tess huffed. "Please. My costume kicks ass."

"Maybe," Maria acknowledged. "But my costume kicks ass better."

...

Michael raised a quizzical eyebrow as he surveyed Maria, standing before him wearing her Halloween costume. "A pirate?"

She smiled. "A sexy female pirate. It's not like I'm Captain Hook or something."

He nodded slowly and said, "I . . . don't think I've ever seen any pirates dressed like that."

She laughed. "What, you know a lot of pirates?"

"Just the ones I see in movies."

"Well, those are fat, ugly pirates," she pointed out. "This is the Maria DeLuca pirate. She's much better." Personally, she was loving this costume more than any other Halloween costume. The orange and white striped midriff that hung off one shoulder was both comfortable and enticing. The short black skirt with the slit up the left side and the wrap around white cloth belt signified that she was open for business. The black lace up boots that reached up to mid-thigh made her legs look like miles, and the orange bandana with the skull and cross bones on it added a touch of adorableness. Now all she had to do was add a few jewelry accessories and figure out how to do her hair and make-up and it would be a _completely_ come-hither look, which was what she was going for.

"Interesting," Michael remarked. "You know, when one thinks of a costume, one typically thinks of something with . . . you know, fabric."

She laughed. "Well, _one_ might think that, but _I_ think . . . the less fabric the better. I mean, I'm glad to show a little skin. Last year, I wore this cowgirl outfit. It covered up _way_ too much. I almost wasn't the center of attention."

"Well, we can't have that."

"Exactly."

"And you're definitely gonna get attention this year, 'cause . . . do you realize I can see your ass in the back?"

She made a face. "You say that like it's a bad thing."

"No, I'm just saying . . . this is why I hate Halloween. It used to be about something, you know? Trick-or-treating. _Candy_. Now it's just an excuse for girls to dress up like sluts and guys to ogle them."

"No," she corrected, "it's a chance for girls to dress up like sluts without being slutty and guys to ogle them without being pervy. It's the greatest holiday of the year. Besides Christmas."

"Christmas is good," he agreed. "Birth of the son of God and all that."

"Actually, I was thinking presents," she admitted. "Whatev. Anyway, now that you've seen _my_ costume . . ." She trailed off, not needing to finish the sentence for him to understand.

"I don't have a costume," he told her.

"I knew you didn't, which I why I took the liberty of buying you one." She skipped behind the counter, took out a sack she had hidden in the oven and set it on the counter. "I stopped by Shindigz on my way home from class the other day and found you something you're gonna love."

"Oh, here we go."

She reached into the bag and grabbed his costume. "Say hello to . . ." She dragged it out, then whipped out a pirate costume to match hers. "First mate Michael!"

He made a face. "First _mate_?"

"It's not _that_ kind of mating."

"No, I know what it is." He seized the costume from her and looked it over. The expression on his face told her everything. He didn't like it. But he should have. It was made for him. He was going to look so great in it. Tight-fitting black pants and big black boots. A loose fitting white shirt with a tight black leather shirt beneath it. A cropped dark brown jacket to go over the shirt and the black bandana and eye patch . . . what wasn't to like?

"I don't know . . ." he said skeptically.

"Come on, Michael. You'll look hot in it," she assured him, hoping promised sex appeal would reel him in.

"You think so?"

"Yes, that's why I picked it out. Plus, now we can totally wear couples costumes in a non-couple capacity. It'll be so cute."

"Well, why do I have to be the first mate?" he came out and asked at last.

"Because _I'm _the captain," she explained.

"Well, why are you the captain? If we're pirates, then isn't my apartment like our ship?"

"I guess."

"And don't I own the apartment? Don't I captain the ship?"

"Well, you used to until I got here," she told him. "No arguing with me. I'm the captain; you're my first mate. Call me old-fashioned, but I believe in girl-on-top." She grinned.

"And the sexual innuendo comes out swinging."

"What's wrong with that?" she asked. "You know, you should try talking sexy sometime, Michael. Girls would like it. You might attract someone with your words."

"I don't care about attracting anyone right now," was his flippant response.

"Well, maybe you should," she suggested.

He narrowed his eyes and stared at her, clearly trying to see what she was thinking. "What're you gettin' at?"

"I'm just saying . . . it's been four months since Isabel left. Four _months_, Michael. That means you've been mopey and depressed for a hundred and twenty four days."

"A hundred and twenty three," he corrected. "Thirty days hath September."

She rolled her eyes. "Whatever. The point is, you've been Mr. Donny Downer for a long time now. It's getting old."

"Well, I'm sorry my emotional state isn't new and exciting enough for you."

She realized she had offended him, and she felt bad. "That's not what I meant. All I'm doing is suggesting that you keep your eyes open. There's lots of girls who would love to date you. Maybe you'll meet somebody at the party tonight."

"Are you trying to set me up with someone?" he asked immediately.

"No," she insisted. "I just want you to be happy."

"I can be happy without a girlfriend."

"You could be happi_er_ with one."

"Maria, I don't need you messing with my love life."

"What love life? You don't have one."

"I don't care."

"Just because things didn't work with Isabel . . ."

"Can we not talk about her?"

". . . doesn't mean they won't work with somebody else."

"No, Maria, I'm not like you, okay?" he finally snapped. "I can't hop into bed with the first person who catches my eye."

That shut her up momentarily as she cast a glance downward at her feet. She wasn't ashamed of being sexually adventurous. There was nothing wrong with trying out a lot of different guys as far as she was concerned. But still . . . she sometimes wished her closest friends didn't think of her as a slut.

He seemed to realize he had said something wrong, because he stepped towards her and said, "Look, I'm-I'm sorry. I didn't mean . . . that was a stupid thing to say. I don't know why I said it."

"It's fine," she assured him. "Don't worry about it."

"No, it's not . . ." He trailed off and sighed, then glanced down at the pirate costume in his hand. "You want me to try this on?"

"Yes, please," she squealed, smiling.

He laughed a little and headed towards his bedroom. "Don't laugh when I come out."

"I won't," she promised.

While he was in his bedroom changing, he called out a question to her. "Hey, so this is still just gonna be a small gathering, right? Just about a dozen people?"

Oh, it was going to be more than that, and he probably wasn't going to be happy about it. At first. "Yeah," she lied in reply. "Just about a dozen."


	7. Chapter 7

People began showing up for the party around 8:00 that night. It started to get really crowded around 9:00. By 9:30, a few guys were already heading out to buy some more kegs. By 10:00, all of the decorations that Maria had hung up were getting torn down, and all of the food she had set out was nearly gone.

"A couple dozen, huh?" Michael said angrily as they stood back and watched it all. He was leaning back against the counter with his arms crossed over his chest, and she was sitting atop it, kicking her legs out once in awhile to flash a really cute guy dressed as a magician who kept looking her way.

"Well, just how much is a couple?" she asked. "You gotta admit, that's really vague."

"Two!" he shrieked. "Two is a couple. You see those people who just walked in. They're a couple. Because there's two of them."

"No, they're a couple because he's got his hand up her shirt," Maria informed him.

"When I said a couple dozen, I was talking about _two_ dozen. At the most. In fact, I'm pretty sure now that I think about that I said _one _dozen. Singular. And what do we end up with? This. I don' t even know these people."

"That's the beauty of it," she explained. "Strangers are sexy."

"Strangers are . . . spilling alcohol on my white carpet! What the hell?"

"Chillax," she told him, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder.

"Chill-_chillax_? What the hell's that?"

"It's a combination of chilling out and relaxing. It's like meditation, only much quicker."

"Well, I _would_ 'chillax' if there wasn't a drunken orgy going on in my apartment."

"It's not an orgy," she pointed out. "Yet."

"Oh, god." He took his eye patch off and rubbed his face with his hands. "I can't believe you did this. You lied to me. I'm never gonna forgive you."

Upon hearing that, she hopped down off the counter and stood in front of him, hooking her index fingers into the waistband of his pants and jutting her bottom lip out in a pout. "I'm sorry," she said quietly, giving him the puppy-dog look.

"Don't do that."

"Don't do what?" she asked innocently.

"Look at me like that."

"Like what?"

"Like . . . _that_. I'm serious. You're in big trouble."

She giggled. "That sounds kinky."

"Kinky? Does your mind _live_ in the gutter or something?"

"No. It lives here, in Apartment 521 with you." She smiled.

"Oh, I should've stuck to my guns and kicked you out."

"And then what would you be doing? You'd be having a boring Halloween with no fun and no memories whatsoever," she said matter-of-factly. "At least this way you're actually _doing_ something."

"I'll tell you what I wanna do: I wanna cut the music and throw all these people out."

"No, Michael, please, don't," she begged in all seriousness. "I'll look so stupid if this party ends before 3:00 a.m."

"3:00 a.m.?" he shrieked. "I don't wanna stay up that late."

"Force yourself," she told him. "Please, just let the party people party. I'll try to keep them more under control."

"Yeah, you say that, but . . ." Before he could finish, the same guy Maria had been eyeing all night, the one dressed as a magician, came up to her and smacked her ass. "Hey," he said. "You look fine."

"Hey," Michael snapped at him, bristling. "Don't."

The guy looked between him and Maria and said, "Sorry. Didn't know she was your piece." He slinked off into the crowd then, immediately finding another girl's ass to spank. She was much more responsive.

Maria smiled at Michael, surprised at how good it felt to have a man get a little protective over her. But also a little disappointed that she wasn't going to be getting her first choice of sex stallion for the night. "You just ruined every chance I had of sleeping with that guy," she informed him.

Michael seemed dumbfounded. "You _wanted_ to sleep with him? He called you a piece."

"Dude, I've been flashing him all night long for that reason and that reason only. We were gonna make some magic."

"Oh." He shrugged. "Sorry about that."

"I'll hook up with up with that guy standing by the TV instead," she decided.

Michael cast a glance in that direction and wrinkled is forehead in disgust. "The one dressed as the giant penis?"

"No, the other one. The guy dressed as the giant sperm."

"Some classy people here tonight," Michael remarked sarcastically. "You sure you wanna sleep with them?"

"Well, who else am I gonna sleep with?"

"Why do you have to sleep with anyone?"

"Because I want to. Is that so bad?"

"No," he replied quickly. "Not so bad, just . . . they're losers."

She shrugged, having already noticed that. "Captain DeLuca doesn't care."

...

Max and Tess arrived at the party at 10:30—fashionably late. Tess took a moment to look at all the other girls' costumes and compare them to her own. Some girls were nearly naked, and others were almost fully clothed. She fell right in the middle. Nothing was showing that couldn't be shown in polite company . . . except for a little butt cheek in the back if she bent over too far. She didn't really plan on bending over too much until she and Max got home. They were only going to stay until midnight, and then they were out of there.

"Smaller turnout than last year," Max remarked.

"Maria must be getting less popular," Tess figured.

"Or she's sleeping with fewer guys."

"I highly doubt that," Tess said. "It's probably just 'cause the party's at Michael's place this year. Everyone assumes it _won't_ be wild."

"And they have good reason to. Michael Guerin's the least lively person I've ever met. That's why he couldn't make it work with my sister," Max rambled. "She's too good for him."

"_She's_ too good for _him_?" Tess couldn't believe her ears. She didn't know the specifics of Michael and Isabel's break-up, but she knew it had been Isabel's decision and Isabel's decision alone. For that reason, hatred came easily.

"Yeah," Max said. "Hey, you look really great tonight, you know that?"

She let her momentary anger slip aside and blushed at his compliment. He had been the one to pick out the costume for her. He'd better think she looked good.

"Oh, watch out," Max mumbled suddenly. "Here comes the Queen Bitch."

Tess looked up just in time to see Maria stalking towards them. She took notice of her former friend's very slutty pirate costume and had to admit . . . it was cute. _Dammit_.

"Well, well, well," Maria greeted them in a sing-song tone. "Look who we have here: Max and . . . Max's girlfriend."

"Very funny," Tess grunted.

"Max is a cop and Tess is . . . oh, she's a prisoner. Gee, I wonder if that's signifying something."

Tess glanced down at her outfit, and for the first time, she wondered, too. Honestly, she hadn't given it much thought, and maybe that was stupid, but . . . she'd just assumed that the short pleated skirt and midriff zip-up shrug were cute. Striped and cute. And the little hat to go along with it . . . it really _was_ an adorable, sexy outfit, but what Maria said made sense, in a way.

"I look good in stripes," she said in defense of both herself and Max. "Besides . . . pirates are so last year."

"But _hot _pirates are this year," Maria explained, "which probably explains why you two are dressed the way you are."

"Save it, Maria," Max snapped. "Every time you try to convince yourself you're not jealous of us, you get more and more pathetic."

"Oh, really? And tell me, Max, why on earth would I be jealous of you two? Can't be the sex."

"We have a lasting relationship," Max said simply. "You'll never have that with anyone. And once your looks fade, you won't _even_ be having sex. So your future looks pretty bleak."

Tess averted her eyes from Maria and tried not to listen to Max. She hated it when he got like this, attacking Maria, and then she attacked him right back, and nothing ever got accomplished.

"Quite a _fiesta_ you've got going here, though," Max remarked, switching the topic quickly and effortlessly. "Smaller turnout than last year, but that's expected. Personally, I'm just interested in finding out how many of these whores end up pregnant by the end of the night."

"Max, that's really not funny," Tess mumbled. He crossed the line with his humor sometimes.

"Sure it is," he argued. "Tonight, Maria gets laid. Nine months later, she's fat, and her sought-after pussy's getting stretched to the _max_." He grinned. "No pun intended, of course."

Maria narrowed her eyes at him, looking as though she could just about kill him, and she didn't have a snappy comeback for him this time. Instead, she ground out to the both of them, "Enjoy the party," before turning her back on them and stomping off towards the kitchen.

"Hmm," Max said. "Not her best argument."

Tess gave him an impatient look.

"What?" he asked.

She shook her head, so annoyed with the both of them. They were childish and conceited, and she constantly felt trapped in between the two of them. "Nothing," she said. "Let's just go dance."

Max grabbed her hand and pulled her into the living room to do just that.

...

_God, that guy is _such _a jerk,_ Maria thought furiously, always amazed that Max could get more and more annoying with every passing day. She marched back over to the counter, bypassing at least five guys who tried to say something to her. She couldn't talk to them right now. She was too angry at Max for being at the party and being with Tess and just being alive in general. _Idiot._ He _really_ knew how to get under her skin.

"Hey, you okay?"

She looked up when Michael spoke to her and replied, "Yeah, I'm fine."

"You look a little upset."

"Well, Max upsets me." She sighed heavily, resigning herself to the fact that he was in existence, and asked Michael, "Can you do your captain a favor and go get her a drink?"

"Argh," he groaned, in character. "Sure."

"Thanks." She watched him veer towards the keg—somebody was going to have to make _another_ keg run soon—and then she spied Tess and Max dancing near the hallway. Max's arms were around Tess's waist and her back was to him, so she couldn't see that he wasn't even concentrating on her. He was staring at a girl near the food table—Maria couldn't tell who. She was dressed up as an angel.

She grunted, hating Max for being such a prick of a boyfriend to her best friend, even though Tess wasn't really her best friend anymore.

_Jackass_.

...

Max knew exactly who the girl in the angel costume was the moment he saw her. He remembered those legs and how they looked wrapped around his hips as he moved inside her. For a year, images like this had pervaded his mind.

He forced his attention to return to Tess when she spun around in his arms and swayed with the music down to the floor before shimmying her way back up. She hooked two of her fingers into the handcuffs dangling from his belt and pulled his lower body in closer to hers. He ground into her suggestively for a moment, but he couldn't help but cast a glance at Liz out of the corner of his eye. Finally, the temptation became too much, and he devised a plan to rid himself of his girlfriend for a moment.

"Tess, sweetheart. I don't mean to alarm you, but your eyebrow hairs are out of place."

"What?" She stopped dancing and touched her perfectly fine eyebrows with her fingertips. "Oh my god." She hid her face and shot off towards the nearest bathroom.

Max smiled, satisfied, and made his way over to the food table to talk to Liz. He removed his dark blue police officer sunglasses in order to see her better, and his cock stiffened in delight. Tight mini-dress, some ruffles, some lace, not to mention those feathery wings on the back . . . this was an image that was going straight into his fantasy bank.

"An angel, huh?" he remarked. "That's ironic."

She glanced at him and said, "A _dark_ angel."

"Well, that's fitting." The costume was all black.

She smiled, trying to look all focused on the nearly empty bowl of candy corn in front of her.

"You look good, Liz," he told her.

"Better than Tess?" she asked.

He leaned back against the food table and sighed. "Don't make me choose." Tess was wearing a costume that he himself had picked out, and she was wearing it well.

"You're a jerk," Liz commented without restraint.

"Yeah," he agreed, laughing lightly before leaning in and whispering in her ear, "but you wouldn't have me any other way."

The fact that her angel wings literally fluttered with her shuddering intake of breath was all the response he needed.

"Bye, angel," he said, quickly disappearing from her side as Tess emerged from the bathroom.

...

Maria was only mildly plastered by the time her brother finally showed up at the party. She didn't even recognize him at first. He was dressed up as a woman in a short, red, sequined dress with matching red heels. The dress came with built in breasts, and Marty had taken the liberty to put on a platinum blonde wig and bedazzle himself in jewelry and make-up. He really looked hilarious.

"Marty, your costume's so great," Maria told her brother for the umpteenth time.

"Thanks," Marty said. "What about you, Big Guy? You think I look sexy?"

Michael made a face at the new nickname. "You make a very strange-looking woman. That's all I'll say."

Marty grinned. "He thinks I'm sexy."

"I do not think you're sexy," Michael denied emphatically.

"You think _I'm_ sexy?" Maria asked, turning to face him.

"Hey, I'm just the first mate. I'll think that if you tell me to think it."

"Think it," Maria told him. "It's true." She nodded, smiling. She had never been more satisfied with a Halloween costume than she was with this pirate costume. It totally blew Tess's ensemble out of the water. Prisoner? What the hell was that all about? She was definitely making a statement, but not a female empowering one.

Marty had just opened his mouth to say something when a guy dressed in a pimp costume came up behind him and tapped him on the shoulder. "Damn girl, what's your name?" The words slithered out of his mouth, full of sexual intrigue. "You look _tight_."

Marty turned around slowly, and the horny guy's face registered shock. "Hi, I'm Martin. Wanna fuck?"

Horny guy stumbled backward and fled for the door.

Maria burst out laughing. "Oh my god, that was the funniest thing ever!"

Marty snorted with laughter and said, "I know, I know. Did you see his face? Did you see his face?"

"He was totally freaked out," Maria agreed.

"And totally cute. Maybe I shouldn't have scared him off," Marty contemplated.

"He could be a potential Brokeback-believer," Maria said, referencing one of Marty's favorite movies. "Maybe you should follow him."

"No, I'll let him come to me," Marty said. "He'll come back, I promise. He can't resist my ass."

Maria laughed and cast a glance up at Michael. He was cringing but tolerating her and her brother's constant perverseness. Good for him.

"Whoa, incoming," Marty said, looking over at the doorway of the apartment.

Maria followed his gaze and tried to make sense of what she saw standing there. "Whoa," she echoed. Somebody had just shown up wearing the lamest costume of all time. It was a plane grey shark with its jaws stretched open and two legs and tennis shoes poking out of the mouth, as though somebody were getting eaten. It was ridiculous.

"Oh my god," she said. "Who the hell would wear that?" Even preschoolers were smart enough to know not to look so stupid.

"Uh, Maria, it's coming this way," Marty said fearfully.

"Let's slip away," Maria suggested.

"No, I wanna see who it is."

Whoever was in the costume came up to them, waved one flipper, and said in a muffled voice, "Hey, guys."

Maria frowned, unsure who it was. She knew so many people.

Michael leaned forward, squinting in concentration, and asked, "Kyle?"

"Yeah. Don't you recognize me?"

"We can't see you," Maria informed him, holding back her laughter. "Nice costume."

"I know, isn't it great?"

Marty chuckled. "She was being sarcastic, honey. You look very strange."

"Way to deflate the guy's ego," Michael remarked. "Kyle, don't worry. Your costume's . . . really unique."

"Well, that's why I wore it," Kyle said. "I didn't think anybody else would dress like this."

"That's because everybody else is sane," Maria mumbled.

"Sorry, honey. Looks like you won't be wooing your dream girl tonight," Marty put in.

Maria sighed. "If only you were a police officer."

"Wait a minute," Kyle cried, flapping his fins dramatically. "This is funny. This is a funny costume. I'm two things at once: I'm a shark, _and_ I'm a guy getting eaten by a shark. It's genius."

"But it's not sexy," Maria explained, "and Halloween's all about being sexy."

"And slutty," Michael added, "according to some people."

"Sexy, slutty . . . same thing," she said, waving him off. "Kyle, I really wish you'd consulted with me about this. This is just . . . really something."

"Can you even see anything?" Marty asked. "Besides the legs in front of you, I mean."

"I can see. There's eyeholes," Kyle said. "I can see the way everyone's staring at me. Oh god!"

"Actually, they're staring at that couple having sex on the couch," Maria informed him, pointing out the couple dressed up as matching ketchup and mustard bottles that was currently getting it on.

"On my new leather?" Michael wailed. "My new leather couch? Oh, just kill me now!" He headed into the living room to put an end to it.

"I can't believe I dressed like this," Kyle muttered. He went on to lament about how his father told him the costume was a good idea. Maria could barely hear him.

"Speak up," she told him. "We can't hear you, Sharky."

He just whimpered in response.

Maria laughed and was about to tease him some more—all in good fun, of course—until Tess barged into their circle out of nowhere, literally pushed her way directly through them, and climbed up on the kitchen counter just as a new song kicked on. Immediately, all the males in the room flocked towards the counter to watch her dance. Maria was practically trampled.

"Oh my god," Kyle said. He was lucky no one could see his eyes through his costume, because he was probably staring in awe. He moved towards the front of the rowdy group and plastered himself against the countertop eagerly.

"What the hell?" Maria barked, not liking this, not liking this one bit. Tess was swirling her arms in the air, shaking her hips, unzipping her top to reveal an insane amount of cleavage. Everyone with a cell phone took it out and tried to snap a picture of what was—or rather _wasn't_—under her skirt.

"No!" Maria shrieked. "No, this is _my_ party!" She wanted the spotlight to be on her. It always was. She scanned the room quickly and met Max's eyes. He was smirking at her, obviously having been the one to put his girlfriend up to this little stunt.

"Oh, it's on," Maria ground out, pushing through the drooling male crowd so that she could climb up and join Tess.

"Yeah!" all the guys cheered, smacking her ass to "help" her up onto the counter.

"My kitchen counter?" Michael shouted. "Oh, god."

Maria stood up and glared at Tess, silently challenging her. Tess just huffed and kept on dancing.

_Bitch,_ Maria thought, unwilling to let her be the one guys salivated over. She began to circle her hips rapidly, causing her short skirt to flap up and show off absolutely everything underneath. The guys with cell phones kept alternating taking pictures of her and taking pictures of Tess. She wanted them to _just_ take pictures of her.

"I'm the better dancer," Tess cooed in a sing-song voice as she did a short model strut down to the end of the counter.

"In your dreams," Maria sang back, removing her pirate bandana. She threw it into the crowd of adoring men and shook her hair out wildly. Everyone cheered. A few especially daring men reached out and ran her hands up the expanse of her legs. She let them touch. Why not? They were good-looking enough.

"Yeah, dance, whores!" one of them hollered.

She stiffened at that command, because it _was_ a command. She cast a glance at Michael, and he wasn't looking at her. He was staring at the floor, looking a little disappointed in both her and Tess.

Before she could contemplate that more thoroughly, Tess's shrill shriek rang out in the air. Maria looked over just in time to see her toppling off the counter, right into the fins of one awaiting Kyle Valenti. He fell to the floor, and she landed on top of them.

"Tess, are you okay?" she asked on instinct. When she realized what she was saying and reminded herself that she didn't care about that girl anymore, she said, "I mean . . . yea, I won!" She threw her hands in the air and whooped in delight.

...

_She's on top of me, _was all Kyle could think after Tess fell. _The girl of my dreams is on top of me. _He hated that she moved.

"Oh my god, that was so embarrassing," she said as she rolled off of him. "I'm so sorry about that. I just fell, and . . . and you caught me." She smiled.

He scrambled to his feet and held out one of his fins to help her up. "No problem," he said, trying to sound cool.

"Thank you," she said, sounding very gratefully. "You saved my life."

He chuckled a little. "Well, that may be overstating it."

"No, you're a hero," she insisted. "What's your name?"

"Kyle Valenti." He crossed his fingers and prayed she would remember him.

"Kyle." She mulled it over and shook her head. "I must not know you."

"No, you do," he told her. "You and Maria went to a party with me and Michael one time."

"I've been to a lot of parties," she said, implying that they all blended together.

"No, but-"

"What're you supposed to be?" she cut in questioningly.

"Oh, I'm a man-eating shark," he explained.

"A what?"

"A man-eating shark," he repeated, louder.

"Oh," she nodded and didn't say anything else about that.

"Here, you know what, just let me get out of this costume," Kyle said, trying to pull his arms out of the fins. He felt confident that she would—or at least _might_—remember him if she saw him. He grunted upon realizing that this costume was more difficult to escape than he had initially thought and tried desperate to push it up and over his head. It was really heavy.

"Tess!" a stern voice called from the doorway. "Let's go."

_The boyfriend._ Kyle felt like snarling in contempt. Tess's boyfriend was going to ruin this precious and all too rare moment.

"Sorry, I gotta go," Tess said. "I'll see you, Lyle." She smiled and skipped off.

"No, it's Kyle!" he called after her. "It's . . ." He tried desperately to Hulk his way out of his costume, but he was stuck. He sighed in resignation and watched Tess disappear out the door. All he could hope now was that she remembered the man-eating shark, because she sure as hell didn't remember him.

...

Michael stiffened when he heard something break. Not good. Not good at all.

"Hey," Maria said, skipping up to him as though she hadn't a care in the world. "Sorry about the counter dancing. Couldn't resist."

"Did you hear that?" he asked her, every nerve cell in his body standing on end.

"Hear what?"

"Something broke. Probably a vase."

She waved it off. "Vases break all the time."

"Probably my great, great, _great_ grandmother's antique porcelain vase," he elaborated. "That thing's been passed down from generation to generation of women in my family."

She furrowed her brow in confusion. "Then why do you have it?" She narrowed her eyes suspiciously. "Something you wanna tell me, Big Boy?"

"Only child," he reminded her. "I'm supposed to give it to my daughter someday."

"Well, you'll never have a daughter unless you make romance a priority," she said pointedly.

He knew Maria well enough to know that that statement was a segue into something bigger and probably crazier. "What're you gettin' at, DeLuca?"

"This just occurred to me as I was climbing down from the counter. I have the perfect girl for you."

"No, Maria, I told you not to hook me up with anyone."

"Michael, I'm serious," she insisted. "Come on, please? Entertain me."

"It's 1:30 in the morning. I just wanna go to bed. But I can't. You know why? 'Cause there are two people who I don't know having sex in my bed." He was starting to get distraught.

"Roll with the punches," she replied simply. "Come on, just come meet her."

"I don't wanna meet anyone, _Maria,_" he whined as she pushed him in the direction of the now completely barren food table.

"Shut up and be nice," she said before stopping him in front of a girl dressed in a dark angel costume. "Michael, this is Elizabeth Parker. Liz, this is Michael Guerin."

Liz just stood there looking stunned for a moment. Apparently she hadn't been aware that Maria was going to do this.

"Hey," Michael greeted unsurely.

"Hey," she echoed.

"_Wow_," Maria remarked emphatically. "Sexual tension you could cut with a knife."

_What the hell is she thinking?_ Michael asked himself. He really didn't understand the way Maria's mind worked sometimes. It worked; of that much he was sure. She wasn't dumb. But she had some wacked out ideas at times.

"What's going on here?" Liz asked nervously.

"Maria's trying to play matchmaker," he explained.

"This is just perfect," Maria went on to rave. "You guys are both single and good-looking and intelligent. Think of the beautiful babies you could make and all the fun you could have making them."

"Oh-kay," Liz whistled. "Pretty sure I'm not thinking about that. Maria, can I talk to you for a minute?"

"Sure."

"Just one minute," Liz assured Michael. She grabbed Maria's arm, and the two of them ducked off into the corner for a quick conversation. Michael couldn't hear the entire thing, but he caught the gist of it. Liz said something about friends with benefits, and Maria assured her that there was a big benefit to hooking up with Michael. He shook his head, uncomfortable with the entire situation, and winced when he heard something else in his house break. This party was getting out of control, and he was hating every second of it.

Finally, Liz and Maria made their way back over to him. "Liz thought about it," Maria relayed. "She'll dance with you."

"I can't dance," Michael said quickly, just as a slow song kicked on.

"Oh, is this a sign of fate or what?" Maria giggled as she pushed them close together. "Okay, just hold each other and sway. It's really easy. Much bliss! Toodles." She gave him an encouraging pat on the back and skipped away, leaving him slow-dancing with a girl he had just met a minute ago.

"I just thought she'd leave us alone if we danced once," Liz explained.

"Right." Sounded like a good idea to him. "So, you're Kyle's ex, right?" He didn't recognize her face, but he recognized her name.

"Yeah, you know Kyle?"

"Yeah, he's my best friend. Plus, he's my neighbor, so there's really no way I can avoid knowing him."

Liz laughed a little. "He's a good guy. Is he here?"

"Yeah, he's dressed as a, uh . . . a man-eating shark. You can't really miss him."

"Kyle always was a little quirky like that," Liz said. "That's weird that we've never met, though, even though we both know him."

"Well, Kyle didn't become my friend until spring semester of last year," Michael explained, "and I think you two were already apart, so . . ."

"Yeah, we were," Liz said. "Probably should've stayed with him, though. I've hooked up with some real losers since then."

"Really?"

"Yeah." She sighed. "Oh, well. That's the type I go for, I guess."

"Yeah, then we're definitely not a match."

"You seem very nice," she agreed. "The last guy I was involved with . . . I mean _really_ involved with . . . it wasn't like an affair or anything, but no one knew we were together. And it all felt so exotic and sexy. But he was such a jerk. He still is. He broke up with me a year ago, and I'm _still_ not over him."

"Jerk, huh?" Michael thought of Tess and Max and said, "Some girls go for that."

"Yeah, I wish I didn't," Liz said regretfully. "I'm sorry about all this. I didn't know Maria was gonna . . . but I should've. She's Maria."

He laughed a little.

"It's not that there's anything wrong with you," Liz assured him quickly. "You seem great. I'm just . . . hung up on somebody else, I guess."

"Me, too," he admitted, thinking of Isabel. "Kind of. Not really hung up on her so much as trying to get used to life without her."

"Who?" Liz asked.

"Isabel Evans."

"Evans?" Liz tensed and stopped dancing.

"Yeah . . ." Had he said something wrong?

Liz stepped away from him and said, "Oh, um . . . I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry; I'm just not feeling very well, all of a sudden. Thank you for the dance, Michael, but I think I . . . I have to go." She whirled around, and she didn't need those angel wings attached to her back, because she flew out of there on foot.

_Weird,_ Michael thought. _Something I said?_

_..._

Maria rolled her eyes in annoyance when she saw Liz bolt off the party scene suddenly. Michael didn't seem to mind. He stopped dancing and headed back over towards her.

"Well, that worked out great," he muttered.

"You didn't even try," she complained, angry with him for ruining her matchmaking fun.

"I did," he insisted. "I had a conversation with her."

"About what?"

"Kyle and some other guy she used to date."

"Stimulating," Maria grunted. "God, next time I want you to hook up with someone, I'm just gonna write you a script and have you memorize the lines."

"No, there won't be a next time," he told her decidedly. "You got it?"

"Uh-uh, buddy. I'm the captain."

"Yeah, tonight you are. Tomorrow, you're back to being the non-rent-paying portion of this household."

"Fine, then I'm gonna make the most of this," she declared.

"What're you gonna do, make me walk the plank?"

"Yes." She handed him her empty glass and said, "Walk the plank right over to the keg. Not so much foam this time. I'm really thirsty."

He tried not to smile, shook his head, and mumbled, "The things I do for you . . ."

"Aw." She smiled. "You're such a good first mate."


	8. Chapter 8

The party didn't even start to dwindle until after 3:00 a.m. By the time 4:30 rolled around, everyone was gone, and Michael was exhausted, but he wanted to get his place cleaned up. Maybe he was a bit of an "anal neat freak," as Maria would describe him, but that had its benefits. What was wrong with a clean apartment? Absolutely nothing. People were only as clean as the environments they lived in.

Kyle stayed after, helped clean up for a few minutes, then sat down on the couch to "supervise." He had climbed out of his ridiculous costume now and thrown it out the window onto the street.

"Well, at least none of your paintings got damaged tonight," he remarked.

"Yeah." Michael picked up the remnants of his grandmother's antique vase and shook his head. So much for that family heirloom. All the women in his family were going to be pissed.

"Pretty wild bash you had going here," Kyle went on. "Too bad I dressed up in the lamest costume ever."

Michael dumped the shattered remains of the vase into the trash can and said, "No, your costume wasn't lame. It was . . ."

"If you say unique, you'll become the man part of my man-eating shark," Kyle warned.

Michael stayed silent for a moment, then said, "I was gonna say memorable."

"Oh, great. So my lame costume's memorable." Kyle grunted. "Tess won't remember me."

Michael grinned. "Who?"

"Oh! Wes," Kyle lied quickly (and dumbly). "I met a girl tonight. Named Wes."

"Girl named Wes." Michael contemplated it and shrugged, pretending he believed it.

"Well, you know, those unsexed names are all the rage," Kyle explained nervously. "I knew of a girl named Michael once. And I went to high school with this girl named Kyle. It was really weird. I'd run into her and say, 'Hey, Kyle,' and she'd be like, 'Oh, hey, Kyle.'" He laughed a shaky laugh.

Michael sent him a what-the-hell-are-you-talking-about look and bent down to retrieve some cups from around the fireplace.

"Don't listen to me. I don't know what I'm talking about," Kyle said in a rush. "So, uh . . . if you had to pick a best dressed girl tonight, who would you pick?"

Michael spied an unmistakable item lying on the floor to the left of his fireplace just as Kyle posed that question, and he shouted, "Oh, that's sick, man!"

"What? What's sick about that?" Kyle spat. "Those girls spent a lot of time on their costumes. We should award a gold medal. They deserve that much, don't you think? I'm not being a creep."

"No, _that_." Michael pointed to the item that had evoked his emphatic exclamation.

Kyle peered ahead with squinted eyes and asked, "Is that a . . . used condom?"

"I told you it's sick!"

"Dude!" Kyle laughed. "At least they're using protection."

"It's still sick," Michael said, having to look away. "I don't wanna pick that up."

"You're gonna have to."

"You pick it up."

Kyle made a face of repulsion. "I'm not picking it up."

"You're my guest. Earn your right to exist here."

"Earn your guest," Kyle retorted. "Or just ask Maria to pick it up. She'd probably do it for fun."

"Yeah, probably," Michael agreed. "Maria!" He waited for a few seconds, but when he didn't get any response, he called again. "Maria!"

She came waddling out of the bedroom a minute later with a sheet wrapped around her naked body. "What?"

"Are you having sex?" Kyle asked her before Michael could tell her about the condom.

"About to," she replied innocently. "What do you guys want? You wanna watch? You can if you want."

"Can we?" Kyle asked eagerly.

"We don't wanna watch," Michael cut in. "Maria, we've kind of got a . . . a situation."

She frowned as she surveyed both of their crotches. "Strange, I don't see any unrelieved erections."

He rolled his eyes in annoyance. "No, no that kind of situation. There's a used condom on the floor. Neither one of us wants to pick it up." He shrugged helplessly. "So . . ."

"Oh, you big babies." She waddled over to the condom, still clutching the sheet around herself, and said, "Paper towels would be nice."

"Oh, right." Kyle hopped up from the couch, scurried into the kitchen, tore a bundle of paper towels from the dispenser, and gave them to Maria. She picked up the condom and tossed it into the trash can Michael was holding.

"There," she said. "Who's the man?"

"You're the man," Michael replied, wrinkling his forehead in confusion as he did so. Maria was anything but manly.

"Thank me later," Maria said. "Right now, imagine a 'Do Not Disturb' sign on the bedroom door. You know." She winked. "Later, guys."

"Later," Kyle said as she headed back down the hallway to the bedroom. "Wow, she's really gonna have sex with someone, just like that?"

"Yeah."

"How does she do that?" Kyle seemed amazed. "I wish I could do that."

Michael shook his head. Casual sex and expendable relationships didn't have any appeal to him. If he was going to be with a girl, then he was going to _be_ with her, make her feel like she was the most important thing in the world to him, because she would be.

About ten minutes later, after Michael had gathered up most of the trash off the floor and taken it out into the hallway to dump it down the trash chute, he and Kyle sat down on the couch and turned on the news. Michael closed his eyes for a moment, feeling the tug of exhaustion, and was just about to fall asleep when Maria's loud, obnoxious, sex-having voice interrupted his peacefulness.

"Uh! Yes! Yes! Yes!"

"Oh, no, not again," he muttered. He could hear the squeaking bedsprings, too. Those things were squeaking more than _ever_. She was really going to bust up that bed if she wasn't careful.

"Wow, I thought that'd be hot, but that's . . . kind of disturbing," Kyle commented.

"Just a little," Michael agreed.

"You wanna come crash at my place tonight? Or, I guess there's not much night left," Kyle said, looking at the clock.

"No, I'm fine here." He could sleep on his couch. It was Saturday, so he didn't have to wake up early, either. Thank God.

"You sure?" Kyle kept offering.

"Yeah."

A moment later, a different voice overtook Maria's. This one was coming from the bathroom, and Michael knew immediately who it belonged to.

"Oh! Harder! Come on, cowboy, ride it!" Marty yelled as he had sex with some guy. "Ride it hard!"

Michael turned to Kyle and said, "On second thought, your place sounds good." The two of them shut off the television, sprang up off the couch, and fled outside in a panic.

"You think we're the only people not gettin' laid tonight?" Kyle asked as he unlocked the door to his own apartment, 522.

"No," Michael said, not really caring. "Well, maybe."

...

Tess tensed as Max snapped the cold metal handcuffs around her wrists. They were the same cuffs he had been wearing earlier as part of his costume. She should have known he had been planning on using them.

"Max," she said, instinctively spreading her legs as he settled himself between them on the bed. "Can we go to sleep after this? I'm really tired, and I have to get up early for an Interior Design Club meeting. We're gonna talk about redesigning the library on campus and-"

"Shh," he hissed. "You're talking too much."

"But I feel like we never talk anymore," she told him. "You know what I mean? We're always doing this, and it's good, but . . . you know? Oh!" She gasped as he plunged his manhood into her with little warning. She wanted to move her arms and hands, to hold onto his shoulders and feel close to him, but she couldn't do that with her wrists bound together.

"Max," she whimpered as he pounded himself into her. "Can you . . . slow down?"

His only response was a grunt and an increase in the pace of his thrusts.

"Max . . ." She felt the cuffs digging into her wrists, and it didn't feel good. "Ow."

...

"Oh, I'm gonna cum. I'm gonna cum."

Liz lay beneath Johnny, the guy she had brought back to her dorm room from Maria's party, as he moved atop her. "Not yet." She was so disappointed in him. He had big feet, so she had thought he would be huge in _other_ areas as well, but he was without a doubt one of the smallest and most inexperienced men she had ever been with.

"I'm gonna cum." Johnny kept repeating his mantra.

"Not yet," Liz pleaded again. She was nowhere close.

Johnny closed his eyes and scrunched up his forehead, and seconds later, his orgasm overtook him. Liz just lay there and watched, wondering if he knew he made such stupid faces in his state of pleasure, wondering if he even cared that she wasn't making faces with him.

He collapsed atop her, all sweaty and disgusting, and she fought the urge to push him off her and onto the floor. She didn't get it. What was the problem with these guys? She told them where to touch her, how to touch her, and they did it. Granted, Johnny hadn't done it well. Not cumming came as no surprise with him, but the other guys she had hooked up with since Max . . .

_And therein lies the problem_, she thought to herself bitterly. _Max._ She hadn't had a genuine orgasm _since_ she'd been with Max a year ago. Even when it was just her and her vibrator, she _had _to think of Max. He'd ruined it for her with anyone else. Together, they had created fireworks, really extravagant, huge fireworks like the ones you saw at Disney World or the opening ceremony of the Olympics. She and all the other guys she'd tried out since Max . . . lame fireworks. The kind you set off in your driveway and feigned satisfaction with, even when they barely crackled and popped.

"Wow," Johnny panted heavily. "That was great."

"Yeah," she lied in agreement. "That was great."

...

Michael trudged back into his apartment at 9:30 a.m. in the morning, barely able to keep his eyes open. As comfortable as Kyle's couch was . . . it wasn't. In fact, it felt like a slab of metal. He hadn't slept a wink.

Maria stood in the kitchen a white sports bra and pink shorts that looked more like underwear. She looked wide awake, though he didn't see how that was possible. She'd had a much crazier night than he had. "Good morning," she chirped.

"If it is, which I doubt," he muttered in response.

"Whatever, Eeyore." She laughed. "It _is_ a good morning. You know why? 'Cause last night was a good night. Brad got me off twice. He's a nerd, but I'll tell you, he's got some _surprising _bedroom skills."

"That's too much information. Thanks."

She shrugged and reached into the refrigerator, pulling out a bowl of strawberries. "These still good?" she asked.

"They should be."

"Do you think it would be tasty if I mixed strawberries with Oreos?"

He made a face of disgust. "No."

She shrugged. "I'm gonna try it anyway."

"Knock yourself out." He plopped down on the couch and groaned. "God, I'm so tired."

"Why?" she asked.

"Why? Oh, I don't know, maybe because I had to sleep on Kyle's rock-hard couch on account of the chorus of moans and groans in this apartment. You and Marty, I'll tell you . . . like brother like sister."

"Well, I can't speak for Marty," she said, "but I couldn't help it. Brad was doing this thing with his tongue."

"Don't elaborate."

"It triggered my scream reflex. God, he's so good."

Michael rubbed his forehead, trying to ease the impending headache. "So is he your boyfriend now?" he inquired. "Or just your hook-up partner?"

She shrugged. "Both? No, I'll probably just hook up with him one more time. He's getting a little clingy. I had to kick him out on his butt at 6:00 a.m. because he wanted to have a conversation."

"God forbid."

"I know. So I guess he's just a hook-up partner. And a damn good one at that. I'm so very satisfied right now."

"Well, I'm glad you are."

She laughed. "Jealous?"

He just shook his head. Was he jealous that she was hooking up with people she barely knew, risking pregnancy and STDs and God knew what else? Not at all. Was he jealous that she was having lots of sex and he was having none? Maybe a little. Was he jealous that all these guys got to have sex with her and he didn't? Now that was just a weird question.

"Is Marty still here?" he asked.

"No, he and his boy-toy left an hour ago. He says he apologizes for the stains on the bathroom walls."

"Oh, I don't even wanna look."

"Well, you're gonna have to eventually. Here, try this." She thrust a small bowl in front of him filled with cut up strawberries and Oreo cookies. She'd really gone and done it.

"I'm not hungry," he said.

"Just try it, you big fuddy-duddy." She scooped up half a strawberry with one of the Oreos and popped it into his mouth.

"No," he mumbled, chewing despite himself. He let the taste of the strange mixture roll through his mouth, and oddly enough, he enjoyed it. "Hey, that actually tastes pretty good," he told her, surprised.

"I knew it would. I'm gonna add ice cream." She skipped back into the kitchen to do just that.

"Now, listen, I got plans today," he told her. "I'm not goin' shopping. I'm not goin' out to eat. I'm not doin' anything like that. I'm gonna paint, alright?"

"I never would've guessed," she muttered sarcastically.

"I'm serious. I got a midterm painting due Monday. I really gotta focus on it."

"I'm not stopping you."

"Yeah, not yet."

"You act like I'm a bad roommate."

"Well, if the boot fits . . ." He smiled at her.

She stuck her tongue out at him. "You're not getting any more of this food concoction," she said as her cell phone began to vibrate on the coffee table. "Would you be a dear and get that?"

He rolled his eyes and leaned forward to answer the phone. "Hello?"

"Um . . . hi," an unsure voice said. "I think I've got the wrong number."

It took him a moment to recognize the voice, but he did. "Ms. DeLuca?"

"Yes?"

"Hey, Ms. DeLuca, it's Michael. I'm Maria's friend. She's right here. I'll get her for you." He held out the phone to Maria.

"No!" Maria shrieked in a whisper. "No, I don't wanna talk to her."

He brought the phone back up to his ear and said, "She's very excited to talk to you, Ms. DeLuca. Just a minute." He held out the phone again.

"Evil!" Maria said. "You're so evil." She reluctantly took the phone from him and immediately changed her tone. "Hi, Mommy!"

Michael rolled his eyes. _Mommy_?

"Yeah, that was Michael. The same Michael you met last year. I'm living with him now."

_This should go over well,_ Michael thought. He knew enough about Amy DeLuca to know that she would not approve of Maria living with a boy. She was conservative, set in her ways, and above all else oblivious to her daughter's actions.

"No, he's not my boyfriend," Maria said. "I needed a place to stay. Tess and I drifted apart, and I moved out."

Michael lay back on the couch and closed his eyes, contemplating a nap before he began painting.

"Dinner?" Maria said. "Um . . . oh, and hanging out before dinner, huh?"

He opened his eyes just long enough to see her cringe and stomp her foot in frustration. Maria must have been reaping some bad-ass karma. She'd thrown a huge Halloween party after promising to throw a small gathering, and now her mother was initiating a mother-daughter day. Perfect.

"Sure," Maria said reluctantly. "That sounds . . . great."

Michael laughed, and he should have known it was a mistake.

"Actually, Mom, Michael can join us at dinner tonight. He's got some spare time today."

"What?" he shrieked, shooting upright into a sitting position. "No! No, no spare time! Painting!"

"He's got all the time in the world," Maria went on. "The three of us, dinner tonight. Sounds like a blast."

_Dammit,_ he thought. Maybe karma was catching up to him, too. But what for? He hadn't done anything wrong. No, with Maria it was karma. With him, it was just plain old bad luck.

"Alright, well, the apartment's not too hard to find," Maria went on. "It's about ten minutes north of my old place."

"South," Michael corrected.

"South of my old place. And about five minutes west of Best Buy."

"East."

"East of Best Buy. It's by the old fair grounds, you know? Hence the name Fairview. You can't really miss it. There's this big fountain out front and everything."

Michael got up from the couch and headed into the kitchen to try to devour as much of her strawberry and Oreo concoction as he could. Simple payback. She was making him go out to dinner, so he was eating her breakfast.

"Alright, well, I'm . . . looking forward to it, too," Maria forced herself to say. She scurried into the kitchen and shoved Michael away from her food. "Alright, I love you, too. Bye, Mom." She hung up her phone, slammed it down on the counter and dug into her concoction. "Oh, fuck, I need to stress eat."

"Is it still a good morning?" he teased.

She shot him a death glare and didn't answer the question. "Shut up."

...

Maria spent hours cleaning that morning and managed to rope Michael into it with her. They picked up the entire apartment, and it was quite a process, but by the time afternoon rolled around, it was looking pretty good.

"Okay," she said. "Is it clean? It looks clean."

"It'd be cleaner if we hadn't had a drunken orgy here last night," Michael grumbled.

"Oh, when are you gonna let that go?"

"Never."

She rolled her eyes. "Don't act like you didn't enjoy yourself. You had fun and you know it."

"Sure, if you define fun as listening to my family heirlooms break, having you try to set me up with that Liz girl, picking up used condoms afterward . . ."

"You got to watch Tess and me dance battle on the counter," she reminded him. "Don't even pretend you didn't enjoy that."

He shrugged. "Every time you do something like that, you just give guys a reason to objectify you."

She frowned. "What does that mean?"

"You know what it means."

She really didn't. Objectify? What did Michael think she was, a walking dictionary? He was probably just saying she should be less slutty. Before she could ask him to clarify, there was a knock on the door, a very light, polite knock that could only belong to one person.

"Oh, shit, she's here!" Maria shrieked. "Okay, clothes . . ." She surveyed her attire, a pink sweater and jeans. _Way _more conservative than the clothes she usually wore, but it was all about lying her ass off. "Good. Study, gotta look studious . . ." She flung herself onto the couch and pried open her math book, coughing as dust flew up into her nose. She hadn't opened that book . . . ever.

"It's upside down," Michael informed her as he made his way towards the door.

"Oh." She flipped it around and pretended to be all engrossed in it as Michael pulled open the door.

"Hey, Ms. DeLuca," he greeted. "How are you?"

"Oh, I'm fine. Nice to see you again, Michael." She gave him an awkward hug and squeezed inside. "Maria!" she squealed. "How's my girl?"

"Mom!" Maria set her book aside and sprang up from the couch, really honing her inner actress as she skipped over to Amy and gave her a bear hug. "I've missed you so much."

"How long has it been?"

_Not long enough. _"Oh . . . too long." She sneaked a glance at Michael and saw him rolling his eyes.

"I hope you don't mind me getting here early," Amy said. "You were right. The place was easy to find. I didn't catch you in the middle of anything, did I?"

"Oh, no, I was just doing some studying," Maria said, sidestepping back over to the couch. "Just looking over some fun facts about . . ." She peered over the couch at the textbook and squinted to read one of the words written there. "Different equations?"

"_Differential _equations," Michael corrected.

"Differential inqua-equa-uh . . . math," she sputtered.

"That's good, that's good," Amy remarked. "Hopefully this means your grades will be picking up soon."

"My grades," Maria echoed. "Yes. Yes, because those have been . . . not so great lately, I know."

"I've been checking them online," Amy admitted. "What's the problem, sweetie?"

"Professors," she blurted. "Close-minded, malicious professors. I swear, it's like they _want_ their students to fail. Pop quizzes all the time. Stuff like that."

"You're keeping up with your reading and all your assignments, though, right?"

"Right," she lied. "It's just the nerves, you know? They say 'pop quiz' and I freeze up."

"Well, I'll write a note of complaint to the dean," Amy decided.

"No!" Maria screeched. "I mean . . . it's not necessary. I'm gonna study harder than ever, and my grades will pick up real soon. I promise."

"Well, that's good to hear," Amy said, patting her shoulder. "What about you, Michael? Do you have problems with your professors?"

"Not really," he replied.

"Michael's like a genius, Mom," Maria informed her.

"I'm not."

"Yes, you are," she insisted. "You've got that scholarship."

"Which scholarship?" Amy asked.

"Oh, it pays for my tuition," he explained. "It's nice, but I gotta keep up a 3.5 GPA."

"And what does he do? Gets a freakin' 4.0 every semester." Maria didn't see any harm in bragging Michael up. He wasn't her boyfriend, but he was her roommate now. It was important that her mom liked him. And really, who wouldn't? Michael was such a likable guy.

"You must study a lot," Amy remarked.

"Well . . ." He shot Maria a semi-angry look. "I try."

Maria laughed nervously. "Well, what he means by that is, uh . . . he works, too, at the art museum here on campus."

"I was wondering how you paid for this place," Amy said, glancing around at the apartment. "It's very nice."

"Thank you." Michael smiled, seeming proud of that. "I sell some of my paintings, too, so that's a pretty good way to make some money."

"That's very industrious of you."

"Thanks."

"Is Maria helping you pay the rent?" Amy asked, narrowing her eyes at Maria suspiciously. "I bet she's not."

"Well, not yet, but she's going to," Michael said. "Isn't that right, Maria?"

"That's right." She smiled, still nervous. She was supposed to be looking for a job. She still hadn't done that. Michael and Amy were both so responsible. She so totally wasn't.

"Well, it sounds like you two have a nice little arrangement going here," Amy said. "Although you'll have to tell me what happened with you and Tess, honey. Don't get me wrong, I'm relieved; that girl was a bad influence on you. But you two were best friends for so long."

Maria shrugged. "There's not much to tell. We don't see eye to eye on a lot of stuff. We drifted apart. That's all." She really didn't want to talk about it. The truth was, sometimes she missed Tess, missed their friendship. But it was gone, nothing she could do about it now.

An uncomfortable silence settled upon the three of them, and Maria wasn't sure what to say. The last thing she expected was for Michael to pipe up and say something, but that was exactly what he did.

"So," he said, clearing his throat, "will Marty be joining us for dinner tonight?"

Maria's eyes almost bulged out of her head. "Uh, Michael! Come here!" She grabbed his wrist and pulled him down the hallway and into the bedroom. "Oh my god, you just committed fuck-up _numero uno_! Do _not_ mention Marty in front of my mother, _ever_!"

Michael looked confused. "Why not?"

"Because she pretty much disowned him when she found out he was gay. Okay, they haven't spoken to each other for years, and whenever anyone mentions him, she goes on this 'homos go to hell' rant. It's not fun. I hate her for it. So just don't say anything about him, okay?"

"Okay. Sorry."

"No, it's fine. Just go tell her hair looks nice or something." There. That sounded like a good, safe conversation for the three of them to have.

When they walked out of the bedroom, they found Amy standing in the corner of the living room, surveying something on the floor.

"Ms. DeLuca," Michael said, "your hair looks really . . . what're you-what is—oh my god."

"Mom what're you looking at?" Maria asked as Amy bent down and picked up something on the floor, something that, from a distance, looked a lot like a . . . "Oh my god, is that a . . . _oh,_ my god." It was _another_ used condom, just like the one she had picked up last night. How had they missed that? They'd cleaned the entire apartment.

"Maria?" Amy looked horrified. "Is this what I think it is?"

"Mom, put that down!"

"Are you having the sex?"

"What? _No_," she lied a little too emphatically. "No, of course not. That's probably left over from the previous tenant or something." Bad lie. Just bad.

"This is ridiculous," Michael muttered.

"No sex for me!" she shrieked, sending Michael a warning look. If he said anything about her non-virgin status, she was going to kill him.

"Whose is this?" Amy demanded. "Maria? What's been going on here?"

"It's really not mine," she insisted. "Think about it. Why would _I _wear a condom? Got a hole, not a pole."

"I got a pole," Michael volunteered. "It's . . . oh, god, what am I saying? It's mine. I'm sorry, Ms. DeLuca, that's . . . 'cause I'm a guy. And I've got needs."

Maria stared at him in disbelief. He was covering for her, for the party she'd just thrown? He was so great.

"Then I suppose you won't mind taking this off my hands, so to speak?" Amy cringed.

"Oh. Sure." Michael turned to face Maria and muttered, "The things I do for you."

"Thank you," she whispered.

He pulled a large bundle of paper towels off the dispenser and used them to collect the condom from Amy. "You might wanna . . . wash your hands," he suggested.

"Trust me, I'm going to." She shuffled into the kitchen and thrust her hands under the sink as he threw the condom into the trash. "So, Michael," she said as she lathered up her hands with soap. "You're sexually active. That's just great."

Maria felt so bad for him. He was going to get grilled. "Mom, this is really an intrusive conversation, don't you think?"

"I'm just trying to get to know your new roommate better," Amy said innocently. "To be honest, I'm not too fond of this new development. I was hoping Michael was saving himself until marriage like you are."

Michael must have choked on his own spit upon hearing that, because he coughed loudly and had to slap his hand against his chest to recover. "Sorry."

"It's just . . . I don't really approve of premarital sex," Amy told Michael.

He nodded. "I can tell."

"I mean, I don't know what I would do if Maria crawled into bed every night with somebody she barely knew."

Now it was Maria's turn to cough loudly. _Mom, I'm so glad you don't know me,_ she thought thankfully.

"Um, you know, I really don't have an opinion on the subject one way or another," Michael said, doing his best to play the part of Switzerland and be neutral in the debate.

"Well, the people involved should at least be in love," Amy said. "At least. Tell me, Michael, were you in love with the last girl you slept with?"

Maria covered her face with her hand and shook her head. This was horrible. So horrible. Michael probably hadn't anticipated getting into _this_ discussion when he'd lied and claimed the condom.

"Yes," he replied, and it was an honest reply. His eyes glazed over for a moment, and Maria knew he was thinking about Isabel. Great. In addition to barging into his private life, Amy had managed to make him think about the one person he tried to never think about. One of the many reasons why Maria couldn't stand her own mom. She made everything bad, and then she made everything worse.

"Well, that's a small miracle," Amy said. "Although . . . I don't know. I guess I still don't like the thought of this, you two living together and possibly . . ." She trailed off.

"Oh, no, we're not . . ."

"It's not like that," Maria assured her readily. "Michael's a friend. A good friend. But not a sex friend. Because I'm . . . such a virgin." She laughed a high-pitched laugh full of nerves. Michael stared at her in disbelief, looking as though he were about to either laugh or cry.

"I just wanted to paint today," he mumbled.

She mouthed 'I'm sorry' to him and placed a hand on her mother's shoulder. "Mom, you know how we talked about dinner?"

"Yes?"

"Well, why don't we make it lunch?" She wanted to get this over with a soon as possible. "Yeah, we'll go to that sandwich shop on P Street, eat some whole grain bread. Healthy, yummy. Doesn't that sound good?"

"Sounds good," Michael said readily. "Let's get this show on the road."

"Okay," Amy said. "Let me go touch up my lipstick." She grabbed her purse off the couch and headed into the bathroom.

Maria couldn't help but giggle when it was just her and Michael in the kitchen. He actually laughed a little, too, though he added, "This isn't funny. Your mom thinks I'm a slut."

"Well, she thinks I'm a virgin." That alone was a real knee-slapper. "I'll make this up to you, I promise."

"Yeah, you say that."

"No, I _promise_," she insisted. "This is just-"

"What are all these stains on the walls?" Amy asked suddenly. "Michael?"

Maria clapped one hand over her mouth to stifle the laughter that came pouring out of her. Those had to be the same stains Marty had mentioned. Oh, if only her mother knew . . .

"Don't mind those, Ms. DeLuca," Michael called back to her. "Just part of the wallpaper."

...

Max and Tess had just taken a seat at the counter of Galeotti's Sandwich Shop and begun to look over their menus when Max looked up and said, "Oh, look, there's Michael and Maria. Joy. Who's that with them? Don't tell me Michael scored himself a three-way."

Tess glanced over her shoulder and saw a familiar face accompanying them. "Not likely," she replied. "That's Maria's mom Amy. She's extremely unpleasant."

"Ooh, I like her already."

"She hates me. She thinks _I'm_ a bad influence on _Maria_." Tess huffed. "Can you believe that?"

"Does she even _know_ her own daughter?"

"Nope."

"Lucky her." Max closed his menu, apparently having decided on his order, and asked, "So what's this lunch all about?"

"Oh, right." Tess had been waiting awhile to approach this topic with her boyfriend. Now seemed like as good of time as ever. "Well, I . . . I was doing some thinking."

"You were?"

"Yeah." She frowned for a moment, not sure if he was teasing or . . . she let it go. "I was thinking that you spend a lot of time at my place. You sleep there, like, three or four nights a week now that Maria's gone. Why don't we just go ahead and make it official?"

"Official?"

"Yeah. You could move in with me." She smiled hopefully.

"I could," Max said. "I won't."

"What? Why not?"

"Because, your apartment's so small and pink and . . . middle class."

Tess wasn't sure what to make of that assessment. "That's because I _am_ middle class."

"But I'm not."

She frowned in disappointment. "So . . . you're not gonna move in with me?"

"No. You should move in with me, though."

"No, I . . . don't want to," she admitted. "Your place-"

"Is amazing," he cut in matter-of-factly.

"Yeah, but it doesn't feel like home."

"It's a penthouse suite in my father's hotel," he reminded her.

She wet her lips and tried to explain. "It's too stuffy and dignified."

"Dignity's a bad thing?"

"No, it's—Max." She was getting a little frustrated, and she didn't like the overall tone of this conversation. "Let's just drop it, okay? Clearly we're not ready to move in together."

"Clearly," he agreed. "God, next thing you know, you'll be wanting me to propose."

She glared at him, doing her best to quell her anger, and said, "Oh, trust me, that's not what I want right now."

...

Michael did the calculations in his head and estimated that, by the time they finished lunch and Amy got out of their hair, it would be around 5:30 p.m. Possibly even 6:00. Either way he looked at it, he had to put up with her for at least four more hours. He was beginning to wonder if he could do that.

They slid into a booth, Michael and Maria on one side, Amy on the other, and began to look over their menus. Amy glanced up and asked, "Oh, is that Tess over there?"

"Unfortunately," Maria mumbled in response.

"Is she still dating that rich boy?"

"Unfortunately," Maria repeated.

"Hmm." Amy shook her head. "No, that's no good. Better to be with the right guy than just any old guy. Don't you agree, Maria?"

Michael smiled, sensing an opportunity to mess with her. "Yeah," he said, turning to face her. "Don't you agree, Maria?"

"I agree," she answered quickly, nervously. "Why is everyone looking at me?"

Michael chuckled a little and decided to change the topic just so that she could relax. "So, Ms. DeLuca, what brings you to Santa Fe?"

"Well, you might remember that I work with a charity organization. The Sunshine Kids Foundation. I'm sure you've heard of it."

"Of course," Michael lied.

"Anyway, I'm assigned to a case at St. Anthony's hospital—poor little girl with leukemia. I thought I might as well pay a visit to my daughter while I'm up here. It's been . . . gosh, six months?"

"Yep. Your birthday," Maria said.

"I missed my little girl."

"You're so sweet, Mom. Hey, don't mind me. I'm just gonna go hit the powder room for a minute, freshen up."

"Powder room?" Michael echoed as she squeezed past him and out of the booth. "What powder room? It's a unisex bathroom."

"Well, that's where I'm going. Try not to have too much fun while I'm gone." She smiled, patted him on the shoulder, and quickly darted away.

_Oh, she did that on purpose,_ he thought. She didn't have to go 'freshen up.' She was just trying to diminish the time she had to spend with her mother, and she was leaving him with her. Traitor.

Amy cleared her throat as though she were about to say something important and then asked the most ridiculous question Michael had ever heard in his life. "So, Michael. When do you plan on marrying my daughter?"

He just froze for a second, thinking he couldn't have _possibly _heard her correctly, and then his eyes bulged out of his head. "Marrying?"

"Yes. I recently purchased a five-year planner. I'd like to schedule it in sooner rather than later."

"Well, how about later, as in way later, as in never. I'm not marrying Maria," he told her decidedly.

"Well, why not? Do you think you're too good for her? Is that it?"

"What? No!" Where was she coming up with all these crazy ideas. "Maria's a-Maria's a great girl."

"She's more than great. She's pure and respectable and beautiful."

"Yes, she's very . . ." He stopped, wondering if he could honestly call Maria pure and respectable. Nope. "Beautiful," he finished up. "Um, look, Amy . . . Ms. DeLuca . . . I gotta be honest here. I don't know where you're getting this whole marriage idea. I mean, Maria and I aren't even dating."

"But you _are_ living together," Amy pointed out. "The next logical step is holy matrimony, followed, of course, by the formation of a traditional nuclear family: mother, father, and two children. A boy and a girl would be nice."

Michael just sat there, mouth agape, staring in awe at the insanity of this woman, and he didn't even know what to say. "What?"

"I'm thinking she'll give birth to the first around age twenty-four, after you've both finished college. So should I set the wedding date somewhere in age . . . twenty-two-ish?"

Michael considered bolting at that moment. He wasn't a runner by any means, but his feet were twitching with the desire to run out of the sandwich shop and far away from her. Relief appeared in human form, though, as he saw Kyle walk through the front door. "Kyle!" he called, waving his arms frantically. "Kyle, come here! Please!"

Kyle approached the table, glancing up at the counter now and again, and said distractedly, "Hey, man, what's up?" He then noticed Amy and said, "Got a hot date, huh?"

"Oh, very funny. Kyle, this is Amy DeLuca, Maria's mom."

"Oh. Shit. I mean, hi," Kyle sputtered, extending his hand in greeting.

"Hello," Amy said, tentatively shaking his hand. "Kyle, is it?"

"Yeah. I'm Michael's friend. And neighbor. And your son's latest fashion project." He laughed.

Amy made a face, and Michael remembered what Maria had said about her no-longer-in-existence relationship with Marty, so he quickly interjected. "So, Kyle, what're you doin' here?"

"Oh, nothing," Kyle replied flippantly. "I was just passin' by, thought it seemed like a good day for a . . . for a . . . for some lasagna or something."

"Well, good luck finding that here. It's a sandwich shop," Michael informed him.

"Right, right. I knew that," Kyle said unconvincingly. He tried to sneak a glance up at the counter one more time, at Tess, but Michael saw him. He just shook his head and decided not to razz his friend about the crush. Yet.

"God, that bathroom's gross," Maria proclaimed as she _finally_ rejoined them, sliding past Michael again back to her spot in the booth. "Oh, hey, Kyle. How's it goin'?"

"Decent," he replied. "I'm a little tired, though. Last night was pretty crazy."

"Last night?" Amy echoed curiously. "What happened last night?"

"Oh, Amy, your daughter throws a hell of a Halloween party," Kyle raved before either Michael or Maria could answer. "I'll tell you, I've never been to such a rager. This girl is a party machine. She's crazy."

"Hmm." Maria smiled and said, "Bye, Kyle."

"Bye? I just got here. What do you mean-" Kyle glanced up to the counter again. Max and Tess were leaving now with sandwiches in hand. "Oh, bye." Kyle dashed out the door after them.

"I'm confused," Amy said once he was gone. "You had a party last night, Maria?"

Maria didn't say anything, so Michael jumped in with an explanation. "Actually, uh, _we_ had a party. Yeah, Maria wanted to keep it really small, low-profile, just a dozen or so people. But I went ahead and invited all these people, and it was a pretty wild time. 'Cause I just . . . love to party." He tried to sound as convincing as he could. He wasn't a natural-born liar, but he could pull it off if absolutely necessary.

Amy surveyed him skeptically. "Is that so?"

He shrugged. "So it is." He looked over at Maria, and she was smiling at him gratefully. He smiled back.

...

Michael stood out on the balcony of his apartment that night, clothed in paint-covered sweat pants and a white tank, with his easel and canvas in front of him. Maria stood back awhile and watched him while he painted. He looked so in the zone. She had known Michael could concentrate on things that he was passionate about, but she had never seen him look _so_ focused, so intent on one thing. She wasn't sure whether to interrupt him or not, but eventually she gave in. She was a talkative person by nature. She couldn't just stand there.

"That's pretty," she remarked as she slipped out the sliding door to join him on the balcony. "That your midterm painting?"

"Yep," he replied. "It's the view from my apartment."

She surveyed the painting in greater detail and noticed that it was, down to the very last trash can. The view wasn't great—the old fair grounds a few blocks away were really run down and shoddy. Still, Michael's painting was beautiful. He was very talented.

"What's it called?" she asked.

"The view from my apartment."

She laughed. "Oh, creative."

"Yeah, really."

She stared at the painting a moment longer, then decided to come right out and say what she'd been wanting to say ever since her mom had left. "Hey, I just wanted to thank you. You . . . really came through today."

He feigned surprise. "I did?"

"Yeah. You completely tarnished my mom's opinion of you. She hates you now, which is way better than her hating me."

"She hates me?" He laughed. "I've never actually had an adult hate me before."

"Well, maybe she doesn't hate you. She just think you're a sex addict who parties too much."

"Really?" He set down his brush and turned to face her. "Now who does that sound like?" He smiled and teased, "I can't believe she thinks you're a virgin."

"She doesn't know me," Maria informed him in case he hadn't noticed. "And I'm more than happy to keep it that way."

"Why?"

That question surprised her. She wasn't quite sure how to answer. "Because. Look, my mom's not completely horrible. She _does_ pay for my college loans, which is nice and all, and I'm grateful for that. I am. But the minute she finds out I'm _not_ a virgin and _not _a braniac and not so many things, she'll stop paying those loans. And then it's bye-bye college for me."

"You think?"

"Oh, yeah." Sadly, there wasn't a doubt in her mind. "She cut off all her ties with Marty when she found out he was gay. What's to stop her from cutting all her ties with me?"

Michael nodded slowly, mulling that over, and then blurted out something that made her laugh. "She's crazy."

"Oh, god. Was she trying to plan our wedding?" Maria knew her mother. Amy's greatest ambition for her was to walk down the altar, even if it was with a "slutty party guy" like Michael.

"No. She was trying to set a date, though. Age twenty-two-ish, alright?"

"Alright." She shook her head as her laughter trailed off. "Oh, I'm so sorry. Is she crazier than me?"

He shook his head. "No one's crazier than you."

"Good to know." She smiled.

"Yeah. You know, even though she's crazy, she may have a point."

And her smile quickly dissipated into a frown. "What do you mean?"

Michael shuffled from side to side on his feet and picked up his brush again. "I don't know."

"Yes, you do. Come on, tell me," she urged.

"It's just . . ." He set his brush back down again. "Your mom wants you to study and get a job and . . . you know, fall in love. What's so bad about that?"

"Nothing. It's just not _me,_" she attempted to explain.

"It could be. You might be surprised how good it feels to study for a test and get a good grade on it."

"And _you_ might be surprised how good it feels to loosen up and dance at a party," she retorted.

"I danced," he reminded her, "with Liz."

She grunted, not able to classify that as real dancing. "Yeah, mechanically, like, middle school style, a total arm's length apart, her leading you, so awkward . . ."

"Fine, but this isn't about me, alright? It's about you."

"Hmm, always is."

"I'm serious."

She pouted. "You're always serious. Lighten up. Come on, Michael, admit that smokescreening my mom today was totally hilarious."

He considered it for a moment, then confessed, "It was kinda funny."

"You enjoyed yourself, even though she's a non-enjoyable person. And you saved my ass. You shall be rewarded."

He grinned. "I shall?"

"Yes. I'm thinking . . . strip-tease?"

He shook his head and laughed. "No."

"No?" She made a face and playfully punched his arm. "You fool. You're denying me the chance to show off one of my greatest talents."

He stared at her, right in her eyes, and his expression became a serious one again. "You really don't even know who you are, do you?"

She was taken aback by that. "What?" She knew who she was. She was Maria DeLuca, hottest girl on campus, life of the party, the envy and desire of virtually everyone who was anyone.

"You got any tests comin' up?" he asked randomly.

"What?" She was more confused than ever. "I don't know. Macroeconomics, I think." She really didn't keep track.

"Great. Study for that," he suggested. "Study hard for that test. Get an A or a B. That's reward enough for me."

She furrowed her brow in confusion, not understanding. "Are you sure you don't just want the strip-tease?"

"I just want you to try something new."

She stuck her chest out and proclaimed, "Well, I'm brave. I'm adventurous. I'm up to any challenge."

"Are you?"

"Yeah. Are you challenging me?"

"Yeah, I'm challenging you, but I'm also really hoping you'll succeed."

"Well, I will," she vowed. "If it's _really _gonna reward you for your blatant lies today, I'll study my sexy ass off for that test, and I'll get an A or a B. Let's be real here: I'll get a B."

"Aim for an A," he suggested.

"Aim for an A but expect a B," she decided.

"Expect an A." He picked up his brush again, and began to mix some blue and black together to create a perfect shade for the night sky in his painting. She watched him for a moment, thinking about what she was getting herself into.

"I've never gotten an A on a college exam before," she mumbled to herself. "I've never gotten an A on _any_ exam."

He swiped the paint-covered brush against a blank spot on his canvas and said, "First time for everything."

She smiled, appreciating his stubbornness. "You never give up, do you?"

He looked her over for a moment and replied, "Not on you."

That . . . felt so nice to hear. No one had ever said that to her before.

Suddenly, he reached out and brushed a line of navy blue paint on her cheek.

"Hey!" she shrieked, trying to seize his paintbrush from him and do the same for him.

"Watch the painting! Watch the painting!" He took a step back and laughed.

"Jerk!" she exclaimed, unable to keep from smiling. Because it _so_ wasn't true. Michael Guerin was not a jerk. In fact, she was beginning to think he was one of the nicest people she knew.


	9. Chapter 9

Tess couldn't believe her eyes. She was heading into the Student Union the next day when she spied Maria lounging about on the steps leading to the entrance. She was wearing sunglasses, shorts, and a bikini top, apparently enjoying the last days of hot weather for the year, and had she not been holding a textbook in her hands, she would have looked completely normal.

Tess approached her friend—former—and stopped in front of her, casting a shadow over her book. "You're _studying_?"

Maria glanced up and tipped her sunglasses downward on her nose. "Is that so hard to believe?"

Tess grunted. "Yes." It really was. She could count on one hand the number of times she had ever seen Maria crack a book, let alone read the words inside. "What, did Michael put you up to a bet or something?"

"No. He made a suggestion. I'm following it. That's all."

"Why?"

Maria set her book down in her lap and pushed her sunglasses up on top her head, looking annoyed. "Because he helped me out with my mom; that's why. You know, _why_ am I even talking to you? You're contaminating my personal bubble with your Max-worship."

Tess frowned. "I don't worship him."

Maria laughed. "Ha, that's a good one. Now move. You're blocking my sunlight."

"Fine. I hope you fry out here and, like, drop your book in the mud or something." She wrinkled her forehead in confusion, perplexed by her own insult.

"What?"

She stepped out of Maria's light, literally stepped over Maria, and climbed the steps towards the Union. She was so glad they weren't friends anymore. So glad.

...

Kyle was walking away from Burger King with a fresh, delicious Whopper in his hand when he spied Tess sweeping into the Union majestically through the revolving doors. He dropped his hamburger, suddenly not caring about it, and watched her, imagining some cheesy background music, imagining her going in slow motion, approaching the sign that said, _Caution: Wet Floor_ . . .

"Oh, shit." He rushed toward her and made it there just in time. She slipped, shrieking, and fell into his arms.

"Oh!"

_I'm touching her,_ he thought excitedly. _Again!_

"Thanks," she said, breathing a sigh of relief as she gazed at him.

He smiled. "It's what I do."

She smiled back at him, still in his arms, and asked, "Can I come up now?"

"Oh, yeah." He pushed her back up onto her own two feet, immediately missing the warmth of her skin when he no longer felt it. Damn, she felt good.

"Thanks," she said again.

"No problem, no problem."

She stared at him intensely for a moment, squinting her eyes to study him, and then her face lit up with recognition. "Hey. I know you. You're the shark." She must have recalled his voice.

"Well, man-eating shark, technically," he corrected. "I guess it doesn't really matter. It was a stupid costume anyway. I mean . . . hi."

Tess laughed a little. "Hi . . ." She trailed off, apparently trying to remember what to call him. "Sorry, can't remember your name. I wanna say Ken?"

_What?_ he thought. _Do I look like a Ken?_ Although, he supposed that wasn't a bad thing. Ken scored with Barbie. "Kyle," he reminded her. "Kyle Valenti."

"Right. I'm Tess Harding."

"I know," he said a little too eagerly. He didn't want to sound like a stalker, though, so he quickly added, "Well, I mean . . . I'm telling you, we went to a party once, you and me and Michael and Maria."

"Sorry, I'm not remembering," she apologized. "I've had some pretty wasted nights, you know what I mean? Especially those pre-upperclassman years."

"Really?"

"Oh, yeah. Sophomore year was the worst. You know how sophomores are just stupid know-it-alls."

"Oh." He hung his head and mumbled, "I'm a sophomore."

"Seriously? My bad. I would've said you were a senior."

"Really?" He smiled, happy that he looked older than he was. Or maybe that wasn't a good thing. Maybe he was looking _too_ old. Too old too fast, premature aging . . . he'd read about these things.

"Well, you've been the catch to my fall twice now, so you get a thumbs up with me," she told him, "sophomore status notwithstanding."

Kyle laughed nervously and said one of the dumbest words ever. "Yippee."

Tess laughed, too, not at him, but seemingly _with_ him, and he thought her smile was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. Christmas morning paled in comparison to that smile. Birthday cakes couldn't even compete. If he could only be lucky enough to see that smile every day for the rest of his days . . .

Tess's phone suddenly rang out shrilly, interrupting the moment and Kyle's thoughts. "Oh, sorry, I have to take this," she said. "It was nice to see you again, Kyle."

_She remembers my name now._ "Nice to . . . see you," he called as she walked off towards the bookstore part of the Union. "Wow." She was really something.

"Hey, honey," he heard her say. "No, I'm just stopping by the Union. I'll be . . . no, I'll be back soon, Max."

_Max._ All his hopes, the ones he'd let himself get up, were dashed. "Damn."

...

Maria didn't allow Michael to help her study until the night before her test. She wanted to be able to do it all on her own, but she had to admit, she was struggling. The material was just so boring, and she didn't have the tried and true strategies to comprehend it. Michael studied all the time. He had to have some tricks up his sleeve. He said it would do her good if he quizzed her, so they set aside that Thursday night to make her a whiz kid.

"Alright, ready?" Michael asked, coming into the living room with two orange sodas in his hands.

She took the soda from him, sipped a bit, and bravely said, "Quiz me, mister."

Michael sat down next to her on the couch, turning so that she couldn't glimpse the open book and study guide on his lap. He cleared his throat, squinted at the words on the page, and asked what probably should have been a simple question. "What is macroeconomics?"

It was the stupid class she was should have never taken. That was all she knew. "Economics that are . . . macro," she answered flimsily.

He gave her an impatient look. "Maria."

"What? I don't know. And who cares? I don't even know why I have to take this class for my journalism major. All these general requirements drive me crazy."

Michael shrugged, thinking about it objectively. "Lots of journalism deals with the economy."

"Not _my_ kind of journalism. I wanna write, like, 'Breaking news: Brangelina preggars . . . again!'"

He made a face. "Tabloid journalism?"

She rolled her eyes, hating that 'tabloid' had such a negative stigma attached to it these days. "No, just, like, the fun kind. I don't know. I don't know what I wanna do with my life." And she really didn't want to think about it, so she quickly asked, "What was the answer?"

"Uh . . ." Michael peered down at the book and read the definition straight off the page. "A branch of economics that deals with the performance, structure, and behavior of a national or regional economy as a whole."

"Oh, well, that was gonna be my second guess. What does that mean?"

"It's . . . well, it seems like it's basically just the economy as a whole, like the U.S. economy or, say, the British economy. Or even just the Southwest's economy. You know? I'm guessing microeconomics would be focused on smaller businesses, states, individuals, stuff like that."

_Maybe his hair sticks up like that because his brain's so big,_ Maria thought, studying the size of his head. Maybe someday his brain would get too big and just pop out of his skull or something. Icky. "How are you so smart?"

He smirked. "I study."

"Loser." She smiled affectionately. "Okay, next question, _por favor_." At least she knew how to say 'please' in Spanish.

"Alright, who was the first person to use the term 'macroeconomics' in publication?"

She didn't even pretend to know the answer this time. "Bob Barker."

"Let's try Ragnar Frisch in 1933."

"Fascinating. God, Michael, this studying stuff is so totally boring. I don't know how you do it."

He shrugged. "I don't have a choice. I can't lose that scholarship."

"Sure you could. Your parents are kinda loaded, right?" She had never met Mr. and Mrs. Guerin, but she had seen pictures of the house where Michael grew up. It wasn't exactly a hole in the wall. And his car . . . well, it was a nice car to have.

"They've got some money, yeah," Michael admitted, "but they're really stingy with it. They expect me to pay for everything myself. Besides, I don't wanna lose it. I'm proud of it."

She laughed. "If someone were to overhear you say _just_ that last sentence, they'd think you were talking about your V-card."

"I'm not a virgin."

"I know. But some people probably think you are."

"And here we go," he muttered, "getting off topic."

"No, no, no, we're on topic," she assured him. "But if we are talking about pride for a minute here . . . I'm proud of my hot body. I'll die if I ever get fat. That's why there's no offspring in my future."

"No stellar test grade in your future, either, if you don't buckle down and do this. Come on, get serious."

"All work and no play make Michael a dull boy," she warned.

"All teasing and no studying make Maria a C student."

She thought about it and decided, "I'm okay with that."

"You promised you'd study."

"And I have. I read all the chapters I was supposed to read, even though it almost killed me."

"You read 'em?" His tone indicated serious doubt.

"Okay, skimmed 'em. Whatever," she confessed. "Good enough. And I got this guy named Steve to email me his notes. God, he's so gorgeous. I think I'm gonna sleep with him soon."

"Imagine that."

"He might be somebody I could date for a few weeks, actually. We'll see."

"Maria . . ." He didn't seem amused. "If you're not gonna take this seriously . . ."

"No, I am. Seriously. Keep going. I'm all ears."

He nodded in approval. "Good. Good, okay. What's GDP stand for?"

"GDP, GDP . . ." Maria wracked her overworked brain, trying to remember. "_Gross_." She remembered the first word.

"Yes . . ." Michael sounded excited.

"Gross . . . Gross . . . Gross Damn Parents?"

Michael pursed his lips together, looking extremely frustrated with her. "Gross-Gross Damn Parents. No. No. Needless to say, no. It's Gross Domestic Product."

"I like mine better."

"Gross Domestic Product, which means, the measure of national income and output for a given country's economy."

"It could mean Gross Damn Parents to some people," she reasoned.

"Yeah, some crazy people," he muttered. "Gross Domestic Product. Just drill it into your brain. I'm sure you learned about it in elementary school. Alright, what's next? Uh . . ."

Before he could get around to asking that question, Marty threw open the door and skipped into the apartment. "Hey, hoes!" he chirped. "What're we gabbing about?"

"Gross Damn Parents," Maria informed him, smiling.

"Does anyone ever knock anymore?" Michael mumbled to himself as he flipped through the book to the next chapter.

Marty sat down on the arm of the couch next to Maria and asked, "Was Mom . . .?"

"Just a couple of days ago, yeah," she replied. "Luckily it was just for a little lunch date. Nothing major. It was enough for me, though."

"My _immense_ sympathy," Marty said emphatically. "Girl, in that case, I've got the perfect treat for you."

This sparked her interest. "You do?"

"Don't I always? Thirsty Thursday at Club Tequila. It doesn't get any better than that."

"It really doesn't," Maria agreed, getting to her feet. "What should I wear?"

"Let's go pick something out."

"Okay." She and Marty began to scurry towards her bathroom when Michael called out her name and stopped her.

"Maria. You do realize this test is tomorrow, don't you?"

She slowly turned to face him, feeling as though she'd let him down somehow. But still, in the grand scheme of partying vs. studying, it was no contest. "If I don't know it now, a few more hours aren't gonna help."

"Yes, they will," he insisted.

"It'll just bore me to tears."

"Come with us, Big Boy," Marty suggested.

"Yeah, come with us," Maria echoed. "It'll be fun. You could meet someone."

Michael shook his head adamantly. "I don't wanna meet someone."

"Michael-"

"No, you just go," he said. "Have a good time. See if that Steve guy's there."

Maria pictured Steve, blonde like a Viking, muscular in all the right places, huge hands and feet that could only be an indicator of one thing . . . "Ooh, I hope he is." She took Marty's hand and pulled him into the bedroom to help her put together a sexy outfit.

...

"All I'm saying is, people who aren't educated in the political arena should not enter the political arena. Don't cast a vote solely for the sake of voting, you know what I mean?"

Maria wasn't sure what to say in response to this statement, so all she said was, "Yeah." She had been so happy to run into Steve at Club Tequila that night and equally happy to find out he had an identical twin brother named Stanley who went to school in Las Cruces. It had been a long time since she'd had a decent three-way, and these two looked like the perfect partners. Unfortunately, Stanley had to open his mouth and start blabbing about politics like a big, stupid know-it-all who, in reality, knew nothing. The boy just would not stop.

"The last thing this country needs is stupid voters electing stupid legislators. And I'm being nice when I call our government stupid," Stanley went on. "I could say a lot worse. I mean, it's not rocket science. It's simple microeconomics."

Something about that struck a nerve within Maria, and she just couldn't stand him any longer. "Actually," she piped up, "it's, uh . . . _macro_economics, mostly."

Stanley wrinkled his forehead in confusion, apparently not used to being corrected. "What?"

"Yeah. Yeah, you're talking about government and economy on a large scale. That's macro. Small-scale's micro. I mean, it's kinda both, but you really don't know what you're talking about." She smiled, pleased with herself.

Steve, who had been standing silently the entire time, laughed and slapped his brother on the shoulder. "Damn, bro. She put you in your place."

"That's right. I did." Maria didn't see any harm in rubbing it in. "Maybe _you_ shouldn't vote, Stan." She giggled excitedly, took out her cell phone, and said, "Excuse me, boys." She walked away from them, heading towards the ladies' room, where she _always_ got the best service, and started to dial Michael's number.

"Honey, what're you doing?" Marty asked in bewilderment as he came up to her. "You've got a stud sandwich in your future. I wouldn't stray from those two."

"I have to call Michael!"

"It's a.m.," Marty pointed out. "He's gonna be pissed."

"No, he'll be proud of me," she insisted as she slipped into the restroom. She held the phone up to her ear as she paced back and forth in front of the mirror, thinking to herself, _God, I look good tonight._ Marty, ever the aspiring fashion-designer, had picked out a short white skirt and long, tight, black-sleeved shirt for her. The black boots looked hot but not hooker-ish, and her messy ponytail and gold hoop earring really pulled together the sexy look . . .

"Hello?" Michael's sleepy voice interrupted her thoughts.

"Hey, it's me!" she chirped.

"Please don't tell me you need a ride home."

"No. Michael, guess what?" She didn't give him the chance to guess. She was talking a mile a minute. "Some guy was going on and on about politics and the economy and all that boring crap, and he's like, 'Hey, microeconomics,' and I'm all, 'Uh-uh, _macro_, baby." She squealed. "Isn't that great?"

"That's awesome, Maria."

"Yeah, I just had to tell you."

"At 1:00 a.m."

"It's a big deal for me. It's not very often I use my brain instead of my body," she reminded him.

"How'd it feel?"

She thought about it, considered _why_ she was so excited and why she was calling him about it, and she came to a surprising conclusion. "It felt . . . actually really good."

"Told you it would."

"Yes, smarty-pants, you told me it would," she admitted. "Alright, I'll let you go. Sorry I woke you up. I was just pretty pleased with myself."

"You should be. I'll see you later."

"Sweet dreams." She flipped her phone closed and stuck it back in her purse, then surveyed herself in the mirror one last time, nodded her head in approval, and headed back out into the club. Steve was standing by the door. She bumped into him.

"Hey," he said, "so that was pretty awesome how you corrected my brother like that."

"You're a lot cooler than he is, Steve," she informed him.

"I think so, too." He smirked. "So, what do you say we ditch him and go someplace, maybe someplace a little more private."

She stared at him, wondering where he had in mind. Not _what_ he had in mind, because that was obviously, but _where_. Sex in his car? Sex at his apartment? Sex in the very restroom she'd just exited?

It was strange . . . but she didn't know if she felt like having sex right now.

...

Michael woke up at 3:30 in the morning asking himself one simple question: _Why?_ Why did his bladder pick now of all times to wake up? He just wanted to sleep. He was having a great dream. Isabel was in it. The good Isabel, the one who didn't really exist.

He grumbled to himself and crawled out of bed to go to the bathroom. He stopped in the hallway, though, when he saw light coming from the kitchen. Maria wasn't home, was she? He'd assumed she would be out all night. If she was back, she would bring Steve with her. Where were all the sex sounds? Not that he missed them or anything; he just figured . . .

He went out into the kitchen and found quite a quizzical sight indeed: Maria was sitting at the counter, still dressed up in all her club clothes, her macroeconomics textbook spread open in front of her. Sheets of loose-leaf paper scrawled with notes lay scattered all around her. It was a sight he'd never thought he would see. Maria DeLuca was studying, and she was studying hardcore.

"Wow," he remarked, crossing his arms over his chest. "Is this what I think it is?"

She looked up at him and smiled before returning her gaze to the facts in front of her. "Maybe."

He smiled back at her, happy that she was taking responsibility for her own education. For once. He hoped he was influencing her somewhat. "So, uh . . . what happened to Thirsty Thursday club night?"

She looked up at him again and shrugged. "Guess I wasn't so thirsty."

He was happy to hear that.

"Plus, just correcting that guy . . . you should've seen his face. It was pretty much priceless." She laughed.

"I'm sure it was."

"Yeah. And it just . . . felt kinda good. So I figured, whatever, I'll just come home and study, just so I can feel good again." She grinned. "I'm all about feeling good, you know."

"So I've noticed." Maria definitely sought out pleasure like it was going out of style. If she had found a way to get pleasure out of studying, then more power to her. She was playing to her strengths.

"What're you doing up?" she asked him.

"Just goin' to the bathroom. Then I'm goin' back to sleep. You should probably hit the hay, too."

She giggled. "Hit the hay?"

"It's an expression."

"I know. But I don't wanna. I'm not tired. I might as well keep studying."

"No, you might as well go to sleep. Cramming doesn't work. There have been studies."

She didn't believe him. "Sure it works. If I cram, I shove in all the information I can at last minute, and it doesn't have time to leave my brain. If I sleep, I'll forget everything I've studied."

"No, you won't," he assured her. "If you sleep, you'll remember it. Please, just trust me. I've been studying for years. I know what I'm talking about."

"Hmm, you probably do," she admitted. "Fine, I'll 'hit the hay.'" She closed her book and hopped down off her stool. She turned off the kitchen light and added, "But I'd better dream about macroeconomics."

"Oh, that sounds like a sexy dream," he teased.

"Sexier than your dreams."

"Don't be too sure."

She headed into the bedroom, mumbling a bunch of terms to herself. "Gross Domestic Product, law of supply and demand, inflation . . ."

He smiled and ducked into the bathroom. Maria was really going for it, this good grade on her test. And as much as she could say that she was doing it for him, to 'reward' him, she wasn't. She was doing it for her, and that thought made him extremely proud. There was hope for Maria DeLuca yet. There really was.

When he left the bathroom and went to join her in the bedroom, he wasn't surprised to find that she had changed into one of his t-shirts and made herself comfy, pulling most of the blankets over to her side of the bed. She had turned on his radio, too, to some horrible hip hop/rap station. She was always trying to get him to listen to music when he fell asleep, but he just couldn't do it.

He turned the radio off, and she sent him a death glare. "One of these days, Michael Guerin . . ."

"What?"

"One of these days, you'll fall asleep to the melodic sound of Eminem's voice."

"I highly doubt that." He crawled in next to her and lay flat on his back, yawning. "Give me some of those," he said, trying to yank some of the blankets away from her.

"I did."

"Yeah, like two inches. Come on, you always do this. You hog all the covers."

"I get cold."

"Well, so do I. Come on, I wanna get back to sleep. Give me some blankets."

She didn't budge.

"Maria," he said warningly, "if I don't get back to sleep now, I'm gonna have to stay up, and then I'm gonna be hell to deal with tomorrow morning; I'll probably put you in a bad mood, and all your studying will just go down the drain, 'cause . . . well, 'cause you'll be too pissed to remember any of it, and-"

"Oh, fine," she gave in, rolling over to face him. She released some of the blankets to him and curled up beside him, very close to him, actually.

"What-what're you doin'?" he asked. "You're hangin' all over me."

"Because you're _so_ scrumptious!" she teased as she intertwined their legs and rubbed her feet against his.

"Seriously, what're you doin'?"

"My feet are cold," she told him.

Well . . . he didn't want her to have cold feet. He smiled and closed his eyes, hoping he would be able to get back to sleep for a few more hours. _Shouldn't be too hard_, he thought. She was warmer than all the blankets combined, and he had grown used to sleeping next to her.


	10. Chapter 10

Liz was just finishing up her morning shift at the tutoring center when Tess strolled in. She averted her eyes, pretending not to see the other girl, and thought to herself, _Please don't let her come over here._ She watched out of the corner of her eye as Tess walked in her general direction. _Please go somewhere else._ She really didn't want to deal with Max's girlfriend. It would be too weird.

Unfortunately for her, Tess stopped right beside her, a perky smile on her face. "Hi, Liz. I don't know if you remember me. I'm Tess; I used to be Maria's roommate. Or, Maria used to be _my_ roommate, technically."

"Of course I remember you," Liz replied, forcing herself to smile and look pleasant.

"Oh, I didn't know if you would. We never really got to interact much."

_Fine by me,_ Liz thought. It wasn't that she had anything against Tess on a personal level. It was just odd to know that they had both slept with the same guy. "How're you doing?" she asked cordially.

"Really good," Tess answered before amending, "Or, okay at least. It's just . . . I'm having all sorts of problems with my biology class. I'm more of an interior design girl myself, so when they give me something and tell me to dissect it, I'm, like, totally clueless."

_Oh, no,_ Liz thought, panicked. _Is this going where I think it's going?_

"Anyway, I'm desperately in need of some help, and I heard it through the grapevine that you're the best tutor around, especially when it comes to bio."

"Oh." Liz hung her head, hating that that was true. She wasn't the smartest person alive by any means, but when it came to science, she was in the zone. "Who'd you hear that from?"

"My boyfriend Max."

Liz tensed, somehow both shocked and not surprised. Max was full of these little manipulations. In fact, when she'd first met him a year ago, he had come into the tutoring center _claiming_ he needed help in _his_ biology class, but really, he had just been using their tutoring sessions as a time to flirt with her, entice her, and eventually seduce her.

"Do you two know each other?" Tess inquired.

_Intimately,_ Liz thought, each of her nerve cells standing on end. She schooled her features to remain calm. "Uh, no. No, not really." She knew there was no way she could tutor Tess, so she quickly got out of it. "I'm sorry, Tess, but I can't help you."

Tess frowned. "Why not?"

"I just can't."

"But . . . I don't mean to sound over-dramatic here, but I just got a C- on my bio midterm. My situation's kinda dire. I need the best of the best, and apparently that's you."

"It's not."

"But Max said-"

"Max doesn't know what the hell he's talking about," she interrupted adamantly.

"What?" Tess seemed taken aback by the tone of hostility in her voice.

"I mean . . ." Liz sighed to regain some of her composure. "Actually, I think he has me mistaken with that girl in the orange sweater over there." She pointed her fellow tutor out. "See her? That's Lynn. _She's_ the best of the best when it comes to . . . well, any subject, really. She can help you out much better than I can."

"Are you sure? Because Max said-"

"I'm sure," she cut in again. "Listen, I have to be going, but good luck with your class, Tess."

Tess looked a bit perplexed as she said, "Thanks."

"I'll see you around." Liz slung her purse over her shoulder and almost fled the tutoring center. She had been planning on going back to her dorm room to nap for an hour before her macroeconomics test. Now she had to make a pit-stop first.

...

Max grinned when he heard her insistent knocking on the door to his suite. He'd been expecting her five minutes ago. What took her so long?

He rose from the couch and crossed the room to open the door.

"What kind of sick joke are you trying to pull, Max?" she demanded, barging right into his place.

"Hello to you, too, Liz."

"I'm serious." She stopped in the living room and whirled around to face him. "Why would you refer your girlfriend to me?"

"Because she needs help; and you're a tutor." He shrugged. "I was trying to do a good thing."

"Oh, I'm sure you weren't."

He stared at her in awe, wishing he could see her aura, because he was sure it would have been full of beautiful fury. He chuckled and admitted, "Alright, you got me. I just wanted to see some fireworks."

"Well, there aren't gonna be any. I'm not tutoring Tess," she said decidedly.

"She'll fail the class."

"I really don't care."

He grinned, so drawn to this fire, the one she kept hidden from everyone else. "Do you hate her?"

"I hate _you_," she informed him.

_Good,_ he thought. He wanted her to.

"Anyone who tries to manipulate his ex-girlfriend into a situation with his current girlfriend's gotta be a major son of a bitch."

"You're not my ex," he reminded her. "We never dated. We just fucked our brains out." He smiled, remembering what it felt like to be on top of her, pounding into her beneath the sheets. "And it was good."

She shifted uncomfortably and averted her eyes from him, clearing remembering the same things he was. "You're a bastard," she ground out. "Stay the hell away from me."

He couldn't do that.

The girl glared at him with passion and determination and stomped past him towards the door.

"No, Liz, wait!" He ran towards her and grabbed a hold of her arm, stopping her from leaving.

"I mean it, Max." She sounded serious. "Let go of me."

He reluctantly loosened his grip on her arm, but as he did that, he moved in closer to her, standing behind her, so close that he could feel the heat of her body, and maybe she could feel his burgeoning erection pressing insistently against his jeans. "I want you," he came right out and told her. A year of not having her was driving him crazy.

"It's not like we're having an affair or something," she said, her hand lingering on the doorknob, not turning it.

He titled his head downward and whispered in her ear, "Wouldn't it be fun if we were?"

He felt her tense, so she must have been considering it. Even if it was just for a split-second, the thought ran through her head and probably turned her on. How could it not?

"I have a test to take," she said, opening the door. "Leave me alone." She walked out the door and slammed it shut behind her.

He stared at the closed door and smirked smugly. She'd be back. He was sure of it. She couldn't resist him forever.

...

"Gross Domestic Product, law of supply and demand, inflation . . ." Maria stared straight ahead at the front of the lecture hall, repeating all the terms she had studied over and over again. She only felt a little nervous for the test. Only a little. But considering she usually didn't give two shits about it, a little nervousness was going a long way to make her feel uneasy.

Liz was way worse. She was literally shaking with nerves, which baffled Maria. Liz didn't care about this class because it wasn't a science class. What was she so jittery about?

"Oh my god," Liz said as the professor and teaching assistants walked up the aisle, handing out test booklets and answer sheets to all the students. "Oh my god, oh my _god_. Why does this test have to be today? Why today of all days?"

"Didn't you study?" Maria asked her.

"A little."

"You did fine on the last test," Maria reminded.

"Yeah, but I was focused for the last test. I'm not focused today, Maria."

"Why not?" She rubbed her hands against her legs nervously, repeating the terms in her head now. _Gross Domestic Product, law of supply and demand, inflation . . ._

"Oh, no reason," Liz squeaked out. "There was just a little incident at the tutoring center today. Not really an incident, but . . ."

"No talking!" the professor barked.

"Hmm." Liz cringed as one of the T.A.'s handed her a stack of test booklets an answer sheets. She took one of each for herself, then passed the rest down to Maria. Maria took the next two and passed the rest on down the row to the other students.

"Oh, no," Liz whispered in panic. "It's all true and false. I hate true/false."

"Are you kidding? That's the best. You have a fifty-percent chance of getting it right," Maria whispered in response.

"But I overanalyze. And I'm not focused."

"Better get focused," Maria said as she took out her pencil and wrote in her name on the answer sheet, filling in the corresponding bubble letters.

"No talking!" the professor yelled again.

"I can't do this," Liz mumbled fearfully. "I can't do this."

Maria had to tell herself the very opposite. "I can do this. I can."

...

Michael stood in the living room and stared at the paper in his hand, the grading rubric Professor Adams had used to grade his midterm painting; he thought (and hoped) he wasn't seeing things straight. He couldn't be. He didn't get grades like this. He didn't get comments like this. _Lack of creativity, _he read. _Shows no passion. What the hell? _His artwork _was_ his passion. It always had been.

This wasn't good. Not good at all.

"Good news!" Maria exclaimed when she came crashing in.

"You did really well on your test?" he guessed, folding up the midterm grade paper. He stuffed it in the back pocket of his jeans and tried to forget about it and focus on Maria.

"Better. I kicked _ass_ on the test!" She squealed and jumped in delight. "Seriously, you should've seen me. I was like . . . true. And then I was like . . . false. True, false, true, false. Someone should've been there to film me taking that test, because it would be, like, an Academy Award winner. For sure."

He laughed a little, still down in the dumps about those comments Professor Adams had written about his painting. "That's great, Maria."

"Yeah, it really is. I'm definitely gonna get a B. Maybe an A? I don't know. I don't wanna get my hopes up."

"Get 'em up," he encouraged.

"I don't know. Anyway, I'd be happy with a B. There were just a few that I had to guess on, 'cause I blanked out."

"It happens."

"Yeah. All in all, though . . . success." She smiled and skipped towards him giddily. "And you know what?" She hooked her fingers into his belt loops and pulled him close to her. "It's all because of you."

He shook his head and denied it. "No, it's not."

"It is," she insisted.

"You're the one who did all the studying."

"Only because you motivated me. You said it would make me feel good, and it did." She snaked her arms around his waist and hugged him. He hugged her back, noting how small she felt in his arms, and rested his chin atop her head, smiling a little. Knowing that she had done well made his own failure easier to accept.

"Are you gonna be a studying machine from now on?" he joked.

She laughed and released him from the hug. "I wouldn't go that far. But I can definitely try to do better than I have been." She smiled up at him. "Are you proud of me?"

"Of course. You proud of yourself?"

She laughed again. "Ha! You sound like a kindergarten teacher talking to a kid or something."

He made a face. "I'm a kindergarten teacher?"

"The best."

"Well, you're my favorite student."

"I'm your only student," she reminded him. "But yes, I am proud of myself. I'm gonna be so pissed if I get that test back and it's just a regular old C or something."

He sighed heavily, thinking of the midterm. "Yeah, that always sucks."

She tilted her head to the side, staring at him, and wrinkled her forehead in confusion. She seemed to recognize that something wasn't right with him. "What's wrong?" she asked.

"Nothing," he mumbled quickly.

"No, something. Tell me."

He thought about it and decided he might as well. He lived with the girl. If he wasn't going to tell her, who would he tell? "It's not really a big deal. I just found out what grade I got on my midterm painting today."

"The 'view from the apartment' one?"

"Yeah, that one."

"How'd you do?"

He took the paper out of his back pocket again, unfolded it, and her eyes immediately shot to the big red C at the bottom, followed by a big red minus sign.

"Oh," she said. "Well, what's wrong with that? You passed."

He grunted. "Yeah, barely. I've never actually gotten a C before, let alone a C-, so . . . I don't know, I should probably just suck it up, huh?"

"Why'd you get a C-?" she inquired. "I thought that was a good painting."

"Lack of creativity or passion or something," he mumbled, crumpling up the grading sheet. He aimed and tossed it into the trash can, happy to be rid of it. "Whatever. It doesn't matter. I gotta get to work."

"Michael." She grabbed his arm and stopped him from heading into the bathroom. "I really did think it was a good painting."

"Well, apparently my professor didn't." He shrugged. "Oh, well. At least you did good on your test. I'm happy for you."

"I'm happy for me, too." She smiled. "Thanks, Michael."

He gave her hand a squeeze and then headed into the bedroom to get dressed for work. C-. It didn't matter. He really didn't care.

Yeah, right.

...

The fact that Maria had finished up the test far before Liz had was cause to worry. The fact that Liz opened up her book after class and saw the answers to numerous questions she had gotten wrong was even more cause to worry. "False," she muttered as she scurried back to her dorm, eager to hide away for the rest of the day. "Why did I put false?" She was walking so fast and had her face buried so far into the book that she didn't notice the person coming straight towards her, and she ran right into him. "Oh, sorry." When she glanced up to see who it was, she wasn't sure whether to smile or cringe. "Kyle." Sure, they were still friends even though they were no longer dating, but they weren't exactly talking buddies. She was expecting awkwardness.

"Hey, Liz," he greeted.

"Hey." She shrugged, unsure what else to say. "Haven't seen you for awhile."

"I saw you at the Halloween party last week. I meant to say hi, but . . ."

"I heard you were there. Your friend Michael said you were dressed up as a, uh . . . a shark?"

"Man-eating shark, yeah. That was . . . it was not a good . . . costume to have." He laughed a little. "Anyway. How's sophomore year treating you, Liz?"

"Good," she replied, even though that was pretty much a lie. She was both sexually and academically unsatisfied, and the worst part was that everything was getting worse instead of better.

"Still working at the tutor center?" he asked.

"Yeah." She nodded, remembering her little run-in with Tess that morning. If that girl kept popping in, she figured she might have to quit. She was insanely jealous of her because she was Max's girlfriend, and at the same time, she was extremely relieved _not _to be her because . . . well, because she was Max's girlfriend.

"I'm still working at the auto shop," Kyle went on. "Yeah, it sucks, but it pays the rent, you know?"

"Oh, that's right, you've got your apartment now. How's that working out for you?"

"Really good, actually. Are you thinking about moving off campus next year?"

She shrugged. Honestly, she hadn't given it much thought. She'd probably been too busy thinking about conniving, annoying, sexy Max.

"Well, Fairview's really cheap," he informed her, "a lot cheaper than The Links. I think Westbrook might be the cheapest of all, but I've heard there's this homicidal janitor who works there—apparently he killed his girlfriend—and he's got the key to every apartment, even the bedrooms, so . . ."

Liz lost track of what he was saying when she spied Max and Tess strolling down the sidewalk in her and Kyle's general direction, hand in hand. The moment she saw Max, Liz had the undeniable urge to make him jealous, so she acted spontaneously, did the first thing that came to mind.

She cupped her ex-boyfriend's face in her hands and kissed him, effectively shutting him up.

...

"So, this Lynn girl seems really nice and all, definitely knows the material, but she just seems like she has so many students. I don't think she's gonna be able to spend much one-on-one time with me."

_Speaking of one-on-one . . . _Max was only halfway listening to Tess's rambling about her mundane morning when his eyes caught sight of something that made his blood boil. Liz was kissing someone. Liz was kissing someone who wasn't him. And it wasn't just a small, short kiss, either. It was the kind she gave in bed. He was infuriated, even though he knew she was probably just trying to make him jealous.

"What?" Tess said, following his gaze. "Well, if it isn't the tutor who shall remain nameless."

_Who's that guy?_ Max wondered. He looked familiar. Wasn't he Michael's friend? Well, if he was anything like Michael, he wasn't a threat.

"I didn't know she was dating that Kyle guy," Tess said.

_Kyle. _Kyle didn't stand a chance. "I didn't either," he mumbled, allowing Tess to lead him towards the commuter parking lot and away from the non-couple. He really doubted they were dating. But they were still kissing, and that was unacceptable.

...

Kyle, having been too dumbfounded to do anything at first, finally pulled away from Liz's lips, wondering what the hell was happening and why. He and Liz hadn't kissed like that for over a year now. "Uh . . ." He wasn't even sure what to say.

"I'm sorry, Kyle," she apologized quickly. "I just . . . I don't know what I'm doing."

"Maybe you just missed me," he suggested.

"No, that's not it."

He frowned. What did she mean by that?

He noticed her glancing over his shoulder, and he wondered what she was looking at. She tried to look away, but she had already piqued his curiosity. He turned, and he literally freaked out when he saw Tess's retreating (and gorgeous) back. Max was with her. Had they seen? Oh, they probably had. Knowing his luck . . .

"No, no, no, _no_!" he yelled, stomping his foot in frustration. Now Tess was going to think he had a girlfriend; but he was about as single as a guy could get. "Damn it all to hell!"

"I'm sorry," Liz said again. "I'll see you around, Kyle." She whooshed right past him, and he just stood there, flapping his arms against his sides in disbelief. "Figures," he muttered. Of course Tess had to see that. Because his romantic pursuit of her wasn't difficult enough already.

Sarcasm.

...

After Michael had gone to work that day, Maria decided to snoop around the apartment. She had a few thoughts about her roommate and about his midterm grade, and she wanted to delve deeper into them. Delving deeper required snooping.

She carried a stool from the kitchen into the bedroom and set it in front of the closet, suspecting that he would keep any items he didn't want her to see up on the top shelf of the closet, where she couldn't physically see them from her 5'4" vantage point. She climbed up on the stool, careful to keep her balance, and her suspicions were confirmed. There on the very dusty top shelf of the closet were about a dozen canvases, stacked in two piles. She pulled one canvas out and took a look at it. _Wow,_ she thought. It was _definitely _different than his midterm painting. It was a painting of Isabel. She was outside, smiling just slightly and sniffing a rose, a small, purple flower tucked behind her left ear. She looked beautiful, and Maria had no doubt that all of the other canvases stashed away would also be portraits of her.

Maria almost fell off the stool when she heard the front door open and close. "Michael?" Kyle called. "You home?"

She breathed a sigh of relief, thinking that she should keep that door locked when Michael wasn't home. She stashed the canvas back where it belonged and climbed down off the stool, skipping out into the living room to greet Michael's friend. Well, he was kind of her friend now, too, as lame as he was.

"Hey, loser," she chirped.

"Oh, hey," he said. "Is Michael here?"

"No, he left for work about a half an hour ago," she replied. "Why?"

"Oh, I just had a bout of bad luck today. I was gonna rant. It's not important. I'll see you later." He turned, heading for the door.

"You can rant to me," she told him.

He turned around slowly and said, "Trust me, I can't."

"Is this about your dream girl?" she teased. "_Whoever_ she is. I have _no_ idea." If only Kyle knew how obvious his feelings for Tess were. She barely even knew him, and even she could see it.

"Maybe," Kyle muttered in admittance. "Look, it's not important, really. I'm just gonna head out, be on my merry way."

"Wait, Kyle." She stopped him just as he was pulling open the door. "Could you stay? I need to talk to you about something."

He made a face of confusion and closed the door again. "Alright, sure."

"Sit down," she said, gesturing towards the counter. "You want something to drink?"

"Uh . . . yeah, I guess."

She reached into the refrigerator and pulled out a beer as he sat down. She slid the beer across the counter toward him; and he kind of just stared at it for a minute, looking nervous, then popped the tab and took a tiny sip, making a face. She smiled and re-opened the refrigerator to take out a Snapple this time. Kyle didn't strike her as much of a drinker.

"Thanks," he said as she handed him the much tamer, less alcoholic drink.

"No problem," she said, sitting down beside him. She took the beer from him and took a much bigger drink than he had.

"So . . . what do you need to talk about?" Kyle asked.

"Well, actually, I was wondering if you could give me the 4-1-1 . . . on Michael's artwork." She realized it was kind of an odd request.

"The 4-1-1," Kyle echoed. "You sure you don't mean the 9-1-1?"

"What do you mean by that?"

"Well . . . that sounded mean. Don't tell him I said this, okay, but . . . he hasn't exactly been doin' his best work lately."

"You mean the C- he got on his midterm painting?"

"Just . . . you know, in general, it hasn't been his best."

"I thought his midterm painting was really good, though."

"Well, yeah, it was," Kyle agreed, "but everyone's seem him do a lot better. Professor Adams expects to be blown away by Michael's stuff. When he's not, it's really disappointing. So that midterm painting could've been at least a B for anybody else, but not for Michael."

Maria frowned. "That hardly seems fair." The professor was setting a higher standard for Michael than for everybody else.

"It never is, is it?" Kyle shrugged. "I don't know. I'm sure it's just a temporary rut, you know? Writers have their writer's blocks. It's the same kind of thing for artists."

"I guess," she said. "Well, tell me more."

"About Michael's artwork?" Kyle seemed confused.

"Yeah." She really wanted to know.

Kyle took another drink of his Snapple and said, "I might not be the right person to ask. I've only known the guy for a little over a year."

"Yeah, but you're his best friend. And you're an artist yourself, so . . ." She trailed off and shrugged. "If anyone would know, it'd be you."

"Well . . ." Kyle thought about it and started in. "Alright, I can tell you what I know. Michael's very into realism. He likes to paint things exactly how they look in real life. Well, not exactly, but close to exactly."

"No, Kyle, that's not what I mean," she cut in. "I'm more asking about how Michael's artwork has . . . evolved over time."

"Evolved?" Kyle made a face. "I don't know. He told me he always did landscape and still-life paintings in high school, did some drawing, too."

"What's still-life?" she asked. Her knowledge of art was extremely limited.

"Still-life, like objects, mostly," Kyle explained. "You know, like a vase of flowers or . . . or this Snapple bottle. Or that beer bottle. Or those salt and pepper shakers. Or that used condom on the floor the other night."

"Okay, I get it," she cut in before Kyle rambled forever. "Go on."

"Well, so that's what he said he painted in high school. But then apparently he came here, met Isabel, started doing some portraits."

"Of Isabel."

"Yeah. And those were good. I mean _really_ good. He'd still paint landscapes and stuff, but by the time I met him in art class last year, he was really channeling his focus into those portraits. And come to think of it, I don't think I ever saw him paint anyone else. Just Isabel."

"Really?"

"Yeah."

"And you'd say those paintings of her were the best things he's ever done?"

He nodded emphatically. "Definitely. Without a doubt. You know, it's really rare to find an artist who's great at landscapes, still-lifes, _and _portraits."

"But Michael is?" she guessed, smiling.

"No, Michael's really _good_ at landscapes and still-lifes; he's _great_ at portraits. Or at least portraits of Isabel. Last year, end of the spring semester, we had to turn in these collections—I think it was a dozen paintings. They could be whatever we wanted 'em to be, as long as there was some theme to the collection. Mine was this lame trees thing. Anyway—so obviously, Michael's collection was all his paintings of Isabel. And, no surprise here, he got an A. Or an A+. I was so jealous. But he deserved it. It was the best work he's ever done."

"So why'd he stop?" she asked. "Why's he back to doing mediocre landscapes if he was doing so well on portraits?"

"Well . . . and this is where it gets psychological. I can only speculate. But to me, it's no coincidence that Michael stopped doing portraits when his subject left town."

"Right," Maria agreed, embarrassed that she hadn't thought of that herself.

"It's kinda sad, really," Kyle went on, downing the rest of his Snapple. "He got an offer to have his stuff shown at the art museum here on campus, the one he works at."

Maria scrunched up her forehead in confusion. "I never saw that exhibit. Granted, I never step foot in the art museum, so . . . maybe that's why."

"No one ever saw it," Kyle said. "Every month the museum does this exhibit for a student's collection. So they got wind of Michael's Isabel collection, and they scheduled him for August. He was gonna have his very first exhibit ever. He was pretty stoked about it. But Isabel left in July, and the exhibit never happened. He backed out at last minute."

"Because she left him?"

"Because she left him broken-hearted," Kyle explained. "Anyway, he hasn't painted a human being since, and I'm beginning to wonder if he ever will again. It's really his forte. It sucks to see him give up on it."

"Yeah," Maria agreed. Remembering her discovery in the closet, though, she thought that maybe there was still some hope. "He still has the paintings, though," she said.

"Really? I thought he'd burn 'em."

"No, I just found 'em up on the top shelf of the bedroom closet. He probably thought he could hide them up there because I'm too short to see 'em."

"You _are_ too short."

"Yeah, but I have my ways," she proclaimed proudly. "I stood on a stool. Oh, yeah."

Kyle laughed a little. "Well, there you go. And they're _all_ still up there?"

"Well, I only looked at one, but there were about a dozen altogether. But the one I looked at . . . you're right. It's _really_ good. And Isabel looked, like, real. Of course I'm glad she wasn't real, because I don't like her very much." As far as Maria was concerned, Isabel was no better than that _other_ Evans sibling.

"I always thought she was hot," Kyle admitted.

"I'm hotter than she is," Maria thought aloud.

"No, the hottest girl alive is . . ." Kyle trailed of sharply, undoubtedly right before saying Tess's name. "Never mind. So, uh . . . if you don't mind me asking, why this sudden interest in Michael's artwork?"

"Oh, it's just . . ." She wasn't quite sure how to explain it. "Michael's been helping me out lately with some studying. 'Cause I'm really not good at studying. He kind of motivated me to do well on this test today. I thought I might try to return the favor, help him out with something that's important to him."

Kyle nodded slowly in consideration. "That's . . . surprisingly generous of you."

She smiled and rolled her eyes. "Whatever. I just . . . I know I'm not the greatest roommate ever, so I figure it's the least I can do. Plus, they say it's better to give than to receive, so . . ."

"That's a good philosophy," Kyle agreed.

She grunted. "Well, it's not _my_ philosophy. I still think it's better to receive. Good deeds are like orgasms. Would you rather give one or have one given to you?"

Kyle chuckled nervously. "Oh. Well, I . . . really don't know."

"It's fun to receive," Maria declared, "but it might be . . . _nice_ to give, too. Once in awhile."

"Once in awhile," Kyle agreed. "So, how are _you_ gonna help Michael with his artwork?"

She shrugged and took another sip of her beer, confident that she would find a way. "I'll think of something."

...

Michael had to work late that night. He hated nights that he had to lock up the museum. No one ever came in at 9:00 at night. It was completely dead and bored him to tears. If he had his way, they would just close at 5:00.

He trudged through his apartment, down the hallway, and decided he would postpone his shower when he heard the sounds of running water and Maria's singing. He knocked on the bathroom door once to let her know he was home, then continued into his bedroom, exhausted. He undressed, put on a t-shirt and boxers, and crawled into bed, moaning in contentment when his head hit the pillow. Finally. He just wanted to go to sleep and forget about the day. Between that midterm grade and work, he'd had enough. And he still had three classes to look forward to tomorrow before the weekend. Great.

He had just begun to fall asleep when he heard the door to the bathroom creak open. He took one squinted peek and saw Maria emerge in a cloud of steam, wearing one of his bathrobes. When she glanced in the bedroom and saw him lying on the bed, she squealed, "Michael, you're home!" and ran forward, pouncing on him.

"Oh!" he groaned when she landed on top of an especially sensitive appendage. "There goes any chance of children."

"What?" She glanced down at where she was sitting and immediately climbed off of him. "Oh, sorry." She lay down next to him, still giggling.

"Goodnight," he muttered, rolling over onto his side, his back facing her.

"What? Goodnight? You just got home." She shook his shoulder as if to keep him awake and asked, "How was work?"

"It sucked. I'm tired."

"Why did it suck?"

"I had to show a tour group around the entire museum. I was on my feet all day," he grumbled.

"You're not even gonna paint before you go to bed? You could sit down and paint."

"Too tired."

She scooted in close to him, literally pressing her body against his. When she leaned forward and whispered in his ear, he could feel her wet hair shedding droplets of water on his skin. "I think you're a good painter, Michael."

"Thank you."

"Guess what?" She spoke louder as she became excited again. "I'm gonna say something that's gonna make you happy. I have an idea."

"Oh, that makes me afraid."

"It's a good idea," she insisted. "Come on, roll over." She grabbed onto his shoulder and tried to pull him over onto his back.

"Maria . . ."

Despite his reluctance, she didn't give up. "Roll over." Finally, she got him to give in and lie flat on his back. She stayed close to him, resting one hand on his chest, and said, "Okay, here's what I'm thinking: I think you should paint a picture."

"Yeah, I do that sometimes."

She rolled her eyes and ignored his sarcasm. "I think you should paint a picture of me."

For the first time since she had pounced on him, he was actually interested in what she was saying. Not because he was entertaining the idea, but because it confused him. "Come again?" Why would she want him to do that?

She smiled. "See? I told you it was a good idea."

"No, Maria, I . . ." He didn't even have to think about it. Absolutely not. "I can't paint a picture of you. I'm sorry."

She frowned. "Why not?"

"Because I can't paint people," he fibbed quickly.

"That's a lie. I found all your paintings of Isabel."

"But . . ." _Great,_ he thought. He'd never meant for her or anyone to see those things ever again. That's why he'd hidden them. "How? You're so short."

"Me, stool, standing," she explained. "I found them and they're _so_ good. Much better than your midterm painting. No offense."

He knew she was right. Deep down, he knew his midterm painting kind of sucked. Even the title was lame.

"Please, Michael, please," she begged. "Think about it. I think this could be really good for you."

"Why do you even care?"

"Because," she answered, "you're my friend, and I-"

"Look, Maria, I-I can't paint you, okay?" he cut her off. "I won't."

She looked so disappointed, and all of her excitement had vanished from her voice. "I just don't understand why not."

He scrambled, trying to think of something to say that would get her to leave him alone, forget about the idea. Because it wasn't a feasible idea. At all. He'd never do it. "Because I don't want to," he replied finally, well aware of how harsh it sounded.

That . . . made her look angry. Or maybe hurt. He wasn't sure which one, but he _was _sure he felt bad about it. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and got up, walking out of the room. Those last words were the kind that sentenced a guy to sleeping on the couch for the night.


	11. Chapter 11

Maria was so upset when she woke up the next morning. She walked by Michael in the hallway, and he said good morning to her, but she didn't say anything to him. He didn't _want_ to paint her? Well, that was his loss.

She sat down at the counter with a bowl of cereal in front of her and began to eat her breakfast. She saw Michael slip into the bathroom with a towel around his waist, and a minute later, she heard the water start to run. She shoved another spoonful of Frosted Flakes into her mouth when an idea occurred to her, a much better idea than that stupid Michael-painting-her idea.

She hopped down of the stool, abandoned her cereal bowl, and walked around the counter to turn on the kitchen sink. She turned the handle all the way to the right so that only hot water would come out. Then, with a mischievous smile in place on her face, she slinked towards the bathroom. She opened the door quietly and stole a glance at the bathtub/shower. Michael had the curtain pulled. He couldn't see her. So she wasted no time turning on the sink, turning that knob all the way to the right as well. He didn't seem to hear her or the additional running water, because he didn't pull the curtain back or say anything. She slipped out just as quietly as she had slipped in and shut the door. She crossed her arms over her chest and leaned back against the wall, right next to the bathroom door. She waited a few minutes, and then she heard a delightful sound.

"Shit, this is cold!"

She laughed at her prank and listened as the shower water quit running. She heard Michael climb out of the bathtub, _almost_ slip on the tile floor, and turn off the sink. He threw open the door, and stopped when he saw her. He was only wearing a towel, but for once, he didn't seem embarrassed. He just glared at her, apparently not amused. "Funny," he remarked sarcastically.

"I thought it was." She was pissed, and she had wanted him to know it. Now he knew. "You're in hot water," she said.

"No, actually, I'm in cold water, thanks to you."

She shrugged and headed back out into the kitchen to finish her breakfast. "That's what you get for rejecting me as your artistic muse." She really hadn't expected him to do that, and she still didn't understand why he had. All she knew was that she was pissed.

...

"I mean, can you believe that? What kind of guy in his right mind says, 'Gee, Maria, I'd rather _not_ paint your picture.'" Maria huffed as she spilled all her frustrations out into the open for Liz to hear before their English Composition class began that day. "He should've felt _honored _at the mere suggestion. I'm just as gorgeous as Isabel. Even more so because, unlike her, I have a _vivacious _personality."

"Vivacious?" Liz echoed, seemingly impressed with Maria's choice of adjective.

"Yeah. I'm a spunky vixen. I can't believe Michael doesn't wanna paint me."

"Why do you think that is?" Liz asked.

"I don't know. I'm not good at getting into Michael's brain. There's a lot going on there. God, I swear, he is so strange sometimes. Like when I was trying to set him up with you at the Halloween party, remember?"

Liz nodded.

"Yeah. And he didn't even _try_ to go along with it. I mean, what's his problem? You're a right good catch."

"Oh, I'm not so sure," Liz mumbled.

"Doesn't he realize he would've been lucky to get lucky with you, even luckier to date you? He would've been a whole freakin' lot of lucky to paint my picture, but no, he doesn't even care to give it a try."

"Yeah," Liz said. "He sounds very stubborn."

"He can be." Maria growled and shook her head. "Whatever. I don't even care anymore. What about you? You look like you need to rant about something."

"Oh." Liz looked down at her lap and shook her head. "Exactly the opposite, actually. I don't wanna talk about my life. Any of it."

"You sure?" Maria urged.

"Yeah, it's pretty topsy-turvy lately. Like the other day . . ." She trailed off and shook her head.

"Like the other day what?" Maria wanted to know.

"Well, I guess it's not really a very big deal, but I kind of . . . kissed Kyle."

"Kissed—you kissed _Kyle_?" She wasn't sure whether to laugh or not. The thought of geeky Kyle kissing anyone was hilarious. "As in ex-boyfriend Kyle. You kissed him?"

"Yeah." Liz smiled a little and shook her head. "Don't ask me why."

"Why?"

"It's a long story. It's just . . . it was a spontaneous, bad decision. So bad. I probably gave him all sorts of false hope."

"Oh, don't worry. I don't think Kyle has those kinds of feelings for you anymore," Maria assured her friend. "He's too busy crushing on . . ." She quickly stopped herself before she spilled Kyle's obvious secret. "Never mind."

Now it was Liz's turn to prod. "Who?"

"I don't know if I should tell you."

Liz shrugged. "It's not like I'm gonna care."

Maria sighed, thought it over for a moment, and decided there was no harm in it. Liz wasn't the type to gossip, and she and Tess didn't hang out in the same circles. There was no reason not to tell her. "Kyle's got it bad for Tess," she said quietly so that no one else in the classroom would hear. "You know, my old roommate?"

"What?" Liz shrieked.

Maria was taken aback by that passionate response. "Apparently you _do_ care."

"Oh, no, it's just . . . it's interesting; that's all," Liz sputtered. "Kyle likes Tess. _Kyle _. . . likes _Tess._ Tess . . . has a boyfriend."

"A loser boyfriend," Maria grunted. "Seriously, I don't know why anybody would ever wanna be with a guy like Max Evans. He's scum. He's worse than scum."

"Oh." Liz looked away. "Is he?"

"Yeah. Anyone who dates him has to be deaf, dumb, and blind. It's not like there's any perks to being with him, except for money. But the sex isn't great. Not that I would know or anything. It's just that I heard things, him and Tess, the late nights, all the male pleasure sounds and no female pleasure sounds to go along with it. He's probably a loser in the sack."

"_Actually_ . . ." Liz waited a moment. "That's probably true."

"I swear, Tess would be so much better off with a guy like Kyle, but it'll never happen. As much as I hate to admit it, she's just like you and me. She can't make it work with nice guys. Kyle doesn't stand a chance."

"You're right; he doesn't," Liz agreed. "Listen, I have to go." Liz suddenly grabbed her backpack and stood up.

"Wait, where are you going? Class hasn't even started yet," Maria said, not wanting to be left alone for a full fifty minutes with a creepy professor and a bunch of over-zealous English majors. Liz was her lifeline in this class, just like macroeconomics.

"Yeah, I know," Liz said as she headed for the door, "but I'm thinking about dropping it."

_No!_ Maria thought. She didn't want that to happen.

"I'll see you later," Liz said, waving as she left the classroom.

Maria grunted and shook her head in disbelief. Why were her friends being so exasperating today?

...

Tess was busy painting her fingernails pink before it was time to go to her 12:30 class when there was a knock on the door. She set her nail polish down and went to answer it excitedly. "Max? Are you already done with class today?" When she pulled open the door, she came face to face with someone who most definitely wasn't her boyfriend. "Oh. Liz." _What the hell is she doing here?_ she wondered. "Hi."

"Hi," Liz echoed.

They stood in awkward silence for a minute, and finally Tess said, "Maria isn't here."

"Oh, no, I'm here to see you," Liz explained. "You know, I gave it some thought, and I came to realize . . . Lynn, the girl I referred you to . . . she _is_ really, really good, but she's got a lot on her plate right now. And my plate's kinda empty. So if you still want to . . . be on my plate, there's room. If you still want to."

Tess stared at the brunette in confusion. "You're offering to tutor me?"

"Yes." Liz smiled. "I think we could really get something accomplished."

"Like me passing biology?" Tess liked the sound of that. "I'm in."

"Great," Liz chirped. "Sounds like a plan."

"Well, do you want my cell or email so we can schedule tutoring time, or-"

"Just drop by the tutoring center tomorrow. I should be there all afternoon," Liz said. "We'll exchange contact info and set up meeting times then."

"Okay," Tess said, surprised by this new development. She had been one-hundred percent prepared to hate Liz until now.

"Okay," Liz said. "I'm feeling good about this."

She sounded . . . incredibly positive. "Me, too," Tess agreed, trying to figure this girl out. When she'd spoken to her yesterday, Liz had seemed . . . impatient and angry. Now she seemed almost way too chipper.

"Alright, I'll see you tomorrow," Liz said, heading down the hallway.

"See you." Tess closed the door and muttered to herself, "She is so weird."

...

When Michael got back from class that afternoon and found Maria sitting on the couch watching TV and reading a magazine simultaneously, he felt relieved. He really needed to talk to her. "Oh, good, you're home." He slung his backpack down by the door and went to join her on the couch. He leaned over to see what she was reading and made a face. "Is that _Playgirl_?" Had to be. There were pictures of naked men.

She completely ignored him and turned the page.

He looked away, not wanting to see any of the . . . spreads in that magazine. "What, are you not talking to me now or something?"

She still didn't say anything.

He rolled his eyes, supposing he should have seen this coming. "Great, the silent treatment. That's real mature." He picked up the remote control from the coffee table and turned the TV off, thinking that might provoke some kind of vocal response. But instead, she just yanked the remote control from his hands and turned the TV back on wordlessly.

"You're gonna have to say something eventually," he said. "We live together. We see each other every day."

"No, I don't have to say anything ever!" she snapped, immediately realizing she had broken her silence. "Oh . . . curses."

He laughed a little, glad that she had already given in. A Maria DeLuca who didn't talk was like a cop who didn't eat doughnuts. It was just so wrong in so many ways.

"Why are you laughing?" she asked. "There's nothing funny about this."

"About what?"

"_This_." She looked annoyed, and much to his surprise she voluntarily tossed her perverted magazine aside and turned off the TV. She crossed her arms over her chest and looked away from him, pouting.

"You're pissed," he stated the obvious. "You're funny when you're pissed. That's why I laughed."

"No, I'm bad news when I'm pissed; that's what I am," she assured him.

"I don't understand why you're so mad at me."

"Because, in case you haven't noticed, I'm a selfish person. And the _one _time I try to do something self_less_, try to do someone a favor, it gets thrown back in my face."

_She's not joking,_ he realized. She was serious about this, seriously upset. He'd really hurt her feelings. That in enough itself was incredible considering the fact that Maria rarely ever admitted to feeling anything at all.

"Maria, I'm sorry," he apologized. "I didn't mean to do that. That wasn't my intention. I know you just wanna help me, and I'm grateful for that. But when I said I can't paint a picture of you . . . I meant it."

"You said you don't _want_ to," she corrected. "Which, personally, I don't understand. I'm just as hot as Isabel. And so what if she has bigger boobs than me? When it comes to legs . . ."

"Maria, I have my reasons, okay?"

"I know; I talked to Kyle. He told me all about your artwork's evolution . . . and the screeching halt it's come to lately."

"Screeching halt?" he echoed in horror. "That's overstating it, don't you think?"

"No, not really. I thought your midterm painting was good, Michael; but then I looked at those paintings of Isabel, and they're _so _good. And I just thought I could help you out because . . . I'm pretty, and I'm your friend. And I felt so good about myself after I finished that test yesterday, and I only felt that way because you _wanted _me to feel that way. And I just wanted to return the favor and make you feel that way, too, but apparently it was a really stupid idea."

"It wasn't," he assured her. He stared at her and realized for the first time how amazing it would be to paint her. She was beautiful and lively and . . . so damn annoying, but adorable at the same time. "Maria, the truth is, I would love to paint you," he told her. "I think it would be fun and frustrating and probably really difficult because there's a lot to you. I'm not sure if I could capture it all with a few brushstrokes, you know?"

She blushed a little, and there was even a faint hint of a smile tugging at her lips. "That's so true," she agreed.

He laughed a little. "Maybe someday, alright? But not now. It's not that I don't wanna paint you, or even that I can't. It's that I'm . . . not ready."

"Because of Isabel?"

"Because I haven't painted anyone since Isabel."

"You haven't painted anyone _but _Isabel," she pointed out.

"Exactly. So if I were to paint you, or anybody else . . ." He licked his lips, trying his best to explain what was stopping him. "It would mean that she and I are really over."

She moved in closer to him and placed her hand atop his. "Michael. You and Isabel have been over for awhile now."

She was right. He hated to admit it, but she was right. Isabel had left four months ago. She wasn't coming back. It was really over. _They _were really over.

He felt pathetic.

"She's a bitch, as far as I'm concerned," Maria said simply.

"No, she was . . . well . . ." He wasn't quite sure how to explain Isabel Evans anymore. At one time, glowing adjectives would have done the trick. Not anymore.

"You loved her?" she filled in.

He didn't say anything in response to that, but he had. He _had _loved her. He just hadn't known her very well.

"Look, I don't know exactly why you guys ended," Maria said, "but eventually you're gonna have to move on. And when you do, I'll be here."

He raised his eyebrow inquisitively. What exactly was she implying?

As if reading his mind, she quickly added, "In a painting capacity. Not romantically, obviously."

"Obviously." He smiled a little. Yeah, Maria drove him crazy enough as his roommate. As his girlfriend . . . well, he'd probably lose his mind.

Apparently no longer mad at him, she leaned in and gave him a peck on the cheek, then rose to her feet, picked up her _Playgirl _magazine off the floor, and headed for the hallway.

"Maria," he called, stopping her.

She spun around to look at him, and he came to a realization. Maria was offering him something Isabel never had: friendship. Support. It sounded crazy, because she wasn't a giving person, but she wanted to give something to him, the chance to succeed. He wanted to succeed, even if that meant forgetting about Isabel.

"Don't go out and get drunk tonight, okay?" he said with a newfound determination in his voice.

She gave him a confused look and asked, "What do you mean?"

He smiled and explained, "I'm painting a picture tomorrow, and I need my subject to be sober."

Her eyes lit up with excitement, and her mouth stretched into a wide grin. She giggled and bounded towards him, throwing herself into his arms for a big bear-hug.

"Uh," he groaned as he wrapped his arms around her and held her close. "There we go."

"Thank you."

"No, thank _you._" For the first time since she had moved into Apartment 521, he was really glad to have her there.

...

Max sat on the couch with his father, Phillip, the next day. They were discussing business, as usual, and papers and forms were strewn all about. Max couldn't even see the coffee table anymore. It was just a mass of documents related to the Evans hotel chain.

"Even after you factor in Mason's investment, I just don't see how the New York chain can benefit from a golf course," Phillip said. "I talked it over with my financial advisor. He agreed."

"But tourists like to golf, even in New York City," Max insisted. He wasn't even technically an employee with his father's company, but he got paid better than all of them combined, and he knew his father valued his opinion.

"Well, I'm not sold on it," Phillip muttered.

"That's okay. Once you die, I'll build the golf course. Then we'll see who's right." Max grinned and snickered as there was a knock on the door. "Excuse me." He stood up and went to answer the door. "Liz," he said, smiling as he stood face to face with his dark angel. "What an arousing surprising. It's too bad you didn't stop by earlier. We're in the middle of something right now."

"Save it, Max." She grabbed his arm and literally yanked him out into the hallway. He shut the door, intrigued by her obvious anger towards him. Perhaps it would lead to fast and furious sex right out here in the hallway where anybody could see them? It wouldn't be the first time they made this spot their own personal mating ground.

Much to his disappointment, she started talking. "I just wanted to let you know I'm gonna be tutoring Tess after all. And before you even conjure up fantasies of the two of us dressed as schoolgirls giving you head at the same time, know that I'm not falling into your little scheme. If you wanted to see fireworks, don't hold your breath, because all you're gonna see is generosity. I'm helping your girlfriend out of the goodness of my heart."

He grunted, fighting to suppress a laugh upon hearing that rehearsed speech. "What goodness?"

She glared at him and shook her head. "You're one to talk. You're _amazingly_ over-confident and arrogant Max. What makes you so sure I won't tell Tess everything I know?"

"And what do you know?" he asked in response.

"That you're completely infatuated with me."

He grinned and leaned in closer to her. It took everything he had not to bend her over and just do her right there. "You won't do that," he said matter-of-factly. "I know you. Like it or not, Miss Parker, I know you better than anyone else. I know that, if you're not doing something just a little bit wrong, you don't feel right. That's why you never could've made it work with your old boyfriend. That's why that kiss you so conveniently had me witness was only a pathetic attempt at making me jealous."

A flicker of delight flared through her eyes, and she asked, "Did it work?"

He pursed his lips together, refusing to answer, and leaned back against the door to his suite crossing his arms over his chest.

She smiled mischievously, understanding his answer without actually hearing it, and turned her back on him to walk down the hallway. He stopped her just as she was about to turn the corner towards the elevator by saying, "I hadn't thought of that schoolgirls fantasy until now."

She shot him one more enticing look, then kept on walking.

_Fuck,_ he thought. _I'm gonna have to take a cold shower after my father leaves._

He slipped back inside and said, "Sorry about that, Dad. Where were we?"

"Golf course," Phillip mumbled. "I'm reconsidering. Who was that?"

Max sat back down next to his father and replied, "A girl I fucked senseless last year while Tess and I were on hiatus. I've been running into her a lot lately. I'd kill to get inside her again."

"She must be good," Phillip remarked.

"She's fascinating."

"Do you love her?"

Max laughed. "She loves me."

"And Tess?"

Well, that was the beauty of it, wasn't it? "She loves me, too."

Phillip smirked and nodded his head in approval. "That a boy."

...

As much as he would have liked to, Michael couldn't deny his nerves when it came to painting Maria. He spent the majority of his Saturday morning trying to act nonchalant about it, because she seemed perfectly at ease. But inside, he was freaking out. He wasn't even sure if he _could _paint her. Maybe he couldn't really paint people. Maybe Isabel was just a fluke. Maybe it wasn't the paintings that were so great, but the feelings _behind _the paintings. Maybe this whole idea was a mistake.

Maria seemed so excited about it, though. They ate breakfast together, and she talked all the way through her Frosted Flakes, saying that she'd never had her picture painted before, that, oddly enough, she was a virgin in this department. That part made him laugh a little, but he was still nervous. This whole thing, painting, artwork in general . . . it had a big element of symbolism. To him at least. He wasn't sure whether he wanted this painting to be amazing or to be horrible.

"Maria, you almost ready?" he asked as he arranged pillows on the couch. They had opted for an indoor session. No way was he ready to paint this out in the open.

"Yeah, I'll be out in a minute," she called from the bathroom. She'd been in there for a good ten minutes 'preparing.' What the hell was she doing, putting on a mountain of lip gloss? She really didn't need any. Her lips looked good no matter what.

He flattened out some of the pillows and draped Maria's favorite blanket, a Santa Fe University blanket, over the back of the couch. He wanted it to look natural. All he wanted was a nice, natural painting, maybe Maria curled up on one side of the couch, running one hand through her hair, not even necessarily looking at him.

He stepped behind his canvas and was about to start mixing up some appropriate colors when there was a knock on his door. He groaned and went to answer it. "Kyle, I'm all out of milk. Just break down and go to the grocery store . . ." He trailed off when he opened the door and came face to face with two familiar figures: his parents. "Oh."

"Hi, honey!" his mother Sylvia exclaimed. "Oh, come here!" She threw open her arms and enveloped him in a hug. For a little woman, she sure had a lot of strength when it came to hugging.

"Mom," he choked out. "Can't . . . breathe."

"Oh, sorry." She released him, and then it was his father's turn. John Guerin wasn't quite as big on the hugging, but his hugs resulted in a fair share of oxygen deprivation, too.

"It's good to see you , Son," John said.

"Yeah, you guys, too." Michael took a step back and asked, "What-what're you guys doing here?" He hadn't been expecting them at all.

"Well, we're attending a production of _King Lear_ at the Von Wright theater tonight. We thought we'd stop by and surprise you," his father explained.

"Well, I'm surprised."

"Are you really? We haven't seen you since August," his mother reminded him. "You know we get to missing you."

"I know."

"Can we come in?" his father inquired.

"Oh, yeah. Sorry." He felt like an idiot for keeping them out in the hallway as long as he had. He opened the door wider and allowed them entrance into his apartment. Luckily it was clean. He closed the door and said, "So, _King Lear_, huh? Sounds . . . interesting." Actually, he thought it sounded incredibly boring, but then again, he'd never been as into Shakespeare as his parents were.

"It's gotten good reviews," John remarked.

His mother glanced into the living room and must have noticed his canvas set-up, because she glanced back to him and asked, "We're not interrupting anything, are we? You look a little frazzled."

"No, you're fine. I was just gonna . . ." Before he could finish, Maria swooped out of the bathroom wearing a long, silky, black robe.

"Alright, Mr. Big Artist," she said, twirling the robe's ties around playfully. "I'm ready to _do it_!" All of a sudden, she tore open the robe and dropped it to the floor, revealing the fact that she was wearing . . . nothing! Nothing underneath!

"Ah!" his mother shrieked, shielding her eyes.

"Maria!" He didn't even know what else to say.

"What?" she asked innocently.

John stared at her in awe and wonder. "Wow."

"I don't get it," Maria said, finally seeming to notice the other two people in the living room. "Are we having an orgy?"

Michael rubbed his forehead, trying to prolong the inevitable headache, and said, "Maria, this is my mom Sylvia and my dad John."

"Your parents?"

He nodded, embarrassed for her since she hadn't the desire to be embarrassed for herself. "My parents."

"Oh!" She quickly bent down to pick up her robe and get back into it. "No wonder they look so old. Sorry about that slight case of nudity." She came forward to introduce herself and shake his parents' hands. "I'm Maria. It's nice to meet you. I've heard so much about both of you. I'm sure you've heard a lot about me."

Sylvia stared at her quizzically and said, "No, actually, we haven't."

Maria shot Michael an astonished look. "You mean you haven't told them anything about me?"

"Was I supposed to?"

She huffed. "Oh, whatever. I'm Michael's roommate. I've lived with him for about a month now."

His mother seemed surprised. "His . . . his roommate?"

"And a friend," Maria added. "A good friend."

"A girlfriend?" John asked.

"No, a _good_ friend," she emphasized. "Yeah, I used to live with Tess Harding, my ex-BFF, who you might or might not know because she's also a friend of Michael's. But we stopped getting along, mainly because she's dating this total loser, Max Evans. And yes, that is the same Max who is brother to one Isabel Evans, primo bitch who left your son in July." She sighed. "Oh, it's a tangled web we weave."

Unsurprisingly, Sylvia said, "I'm confused. If you're just Michael's friend, what was that little strip-tease all about?"

"Oh, that wasn't a strip-tease. That was simply removal of a garment. I could show you a strip-tease if you want. I could probably even teach you a few moves to keep your hubby here satisfied."

"Please don't," Michael muttered, praying she wouldn't find a way to make this even worse.

"Please do," John piped up.

Michael made a face. "Oh, Dad . . ." He really did not want to have to extract his father out of Maria's ass. That would just be . . . unpleasant to say the least.

"Jonathon!" his wife scolded. "She's not even half your age."

"That's okay, Mr. Guerin," Maria assured him readily. "I'm a very sexual person. I don't blame you for being attracted to me."

"Oh . . . kay. I'm gonna puke," Michael informed them. "Mom, Dad, the reason why Maria was just naked . . . actually, I don't even know why she was just naked."

"Michael's painting my picture today," she explained. "It's gonna be a nude."

"It's not gonna be a nude."

"I want it to be a nude."

"I don't." _Crazy._ She had to be crazy.

"Why not?" She smiled, teasing him. "Are you worried you'll pitch a tent on the second brushstroke?"

"Oh my god." Did she not _realize _that the very people who had conceived him and put diapers on him and driven him to kindergarten every day were standing right next to her?

"I'd be offended if you didn't, Michael."

"Maria, I really think you should just not say anything else, okay?" he suggested.

"Why not? Your dad seems to be enjoying the sound of my voice."

Michael cast a glance at his father and noted the happy-go-luck on his face. "Hmm, yes," John said, nodding.

"I'm starting to think we should've called first," Sylvia said quietly.

"No, you're fine," Michael assured them again. "You know what? We'll just postpone the painting, and the three of us can go out to lunch." He was starting to think that his parents' arrival was destined. He wasn't meant to paint Maria's picture.

"Well, aren't you going to invite Maria?" his father asked.

He really hadn't been planning on it. She wasn't exactly making the best first impression so far.

"Yeah, aren't you?" Maria joined in. "I made you go out to eat with my mom."

"Actually, I'm fine with you staying here, okay?" he told her. "Fantastic. So, Country Buffet or . . ."

"Michael." His mother gave him a pointed look. "That's rather rude. We raised you to be a gentleman."

"Oh, you raised him very well, Mrs. Guerin," Maria assured her. "Much better than my mom raised me."

"Oh, well . . ." Sylvia looked confused, clearly wondering whether that was a good thing or a bad thing. "Thank you?"

Maria smiled.

"Michael . . ." his father urged.

Michael sighed and gave in. He really didn't want this. Maria was his friend, but he really didn't think his parents were going to like her. They hadn't liked Isabel. "Fine, Maria, come to lunch with us if you _really_ want to," he said.

"Oh, I do," she replied. "I love getting to know people. I'm like a little social butterfly. Or sexual butterfly, actually. Usually when I 'get to know' people, it involves a little bedroom activity, you know what I mean?" She laughed and playfully punched Michael's father in the arm. "Not this time! Sorry, Mr. Guerin."

Michael forced himself to smile to keep form screaming and suggested, "Why don't you just go get dressed?"

"Okay. It won't take me too long. I'll go commando." She smiled and skipped into the bedroom.

"Wow," John managed again.

Sylvia took that opportunity to state the painfully obvious. "She's promiscuous."

Michael nodded his head in agreement. "She's a lot of things."

...

Maria, Michael, Sylvia, and John ended up at a fancy restaurant that afternoon, some French restaurant with a name Maria couldn't even begin to pronounce. While they were waiting for their food, Sylvia got up to go to the bathroom, and Maria went with her. She really wanted Michael's mom to get to know her and to like her. As for his dad . . . well, he already liked her. No problem there.

"So," Sylvia said as she leaned in towards the mirror and reapplied her lipstick. "Are you a junior like Michael?"

"Yeah," Maria answered as she examined her butt in the mirror. Was it getting bigger? Was that a good thing? "Technically, I think I'm still a sophomore," she admitted. "I'm not very educationally-oriented. I've failed a few classes in my day. But, yeah, this is my third year here at the university, so I tell people I'm a junior."

"Michael took summer classes one year," Sylvia declared proudly. "I think he'll have enough credits to be a senior at the end of this semester."

"He's really smart," Maria remarked, leaning back against the sink counter.

"Well, he's very driven," Sylvia added. "Even when he was younger, I never had to force him to do his homework. He always did it willingly."

Maria laughed a little, reflecting on how different she and Michael really were. "My mom never had to force me to sneak out of the house. I always did that willingly. And she never caught me. I'm so sly."

"Is that a good thing?"

She shrugged. "Sure. I always had a lot of fun. I still do. Gets me into trouble sometimes, but at least I'm living life, you know?"

"I suppose that's all that matters," Sylvia reluctantly agreed. "Well, how did you and my son come to meet? You don't seem anything alike."

"We met freshman year in math class," Maria informed her. "He helped me and Tess cheat and therefore pass. We're forever indebted to him."

"So, you must be pretty good friends, you and Michael," Sylvia went on, obviously trying to sort some things out.

"Well, we're a lot closer now that we've been living together."

"It's funny he's never mentioned you."

Maria shrugged. "I think I embarrass him sometimes. I'm really loud and out there. I don't care what people think about me just as long as they _do_ think about me." She smirked.

"Hmm." Sylvia seemed very skeptical of her. Maria was well aware that she might not be making the best impression, but she couldn't pretend to be someone she wasn't. She just couldn't.

"Should we get back out there?" Maria asked. "Our food might be here."

"John and Michael are probably discussing politics. We'll give them a minute," Sylvia decided. "So, how exactly did this living arrangement with my son come about? I think I know him pretty well. He never expressed an interest in having a roommate. Well, unless you count Isabel, but she wasn't really living with him. Was she? I don't know."

"Well, to be honest, I kinda just invited myself to live with him," Maria confessed. "I didn't have anywhere else to go. I actually don't have a whole lot of other friends. Michael tried to get me to leave, but he's a such a softie. He let me stay."

"And are you helping him pay rent?"

"Well, I will be eventually. I just studied for the first time _ever_. Gotta make these changes in small increments, you know. Can't take on too much at once."

"Your first time ever?"

Maria laughed. "Now _that_ is funny. It sounds like you're talking about the loss of my virginity. God, that seems like a lifetime ago."

Sylvia looked mortified. "What are you saying?"

"Well, I like sex. I have sex often. Because I like it. Do you see how we've come full circle here?"

"Oh, so you have a boyfriend."

"No."

Sylvia frowned. "No?"

"Well, I mean not usually."

Sylvia cringed and said, "Oh, Maria, I'm worried I might be forming a stereotypical perception of you. Please tell me I'm wrong."

"What, slutty party girl?" Maria shook her head. "You're not wrong. But hey, at least I'm honest, right?"

Sylvia laughed nervously. "Right. I'm sorry, I have to be honest, too . . . I'm not sure if I can picture you and my son living together."

"Well, obviously we won't live together forever," Maria said. She didn't have a precise timeline or anything, but she figured she would move out sometime during the spring semester. "But for now it's working out well. He lets my stuff occupy all the counter space in the bathroom. He buys me all the food I like to eat. He lets me hog all the covers."

Now Sylvia looked genuinely alarmed. "You . . . the two of you are—you sleep together? In the same bed, I mean?"

"Yeah," Maria didn't see the big deal. "I mean, there's only one bed to sleep in. Although, sometimes he sleeps on the couch, like the other night when we had this little non-lover's spat. Or if I bring a guy home . . . obviously he doesn't wanna be there for that. Or like Halloween; I was getting busy with this guy named Brad—_so_ delectable. Anyway, we were getting really loud, and then my brother was in the bathroom getting it on with . . . god, what was his name? Jason? Justin?"

"_His _name?"

"Yeah. I'll tell you, Marty hooks up with more guys than I do. If he ever gets Michael drunk . . ." She laughed, "Well, Michael better watch out is all I'm saying. We've seen him naked, and Marty can't get past it."

Sylvia just stared at her in horror, mouth agape, eyes wide open. "I don't even know what to say."

Maria just smiled and shrugged. Did she have to say anything?

...

Michael and his father sat at the table, waiting for the food they had ordered and for the women who had abandoned them for the sake of the powder room. Michael wasn't sure whether he wanted Maria to rejoin them or not. On the one hand, seeing his father literally salivate over her was a tad bit disturbing. On the other hand, hearing him swoon over her was just as bad. Lose/lose situation. Of course.

"Are they still in the bathroom?" he asked, craning his neck to peer back where both the bathrooms were.

"Apparently," his father muttered. "You know how women are."

Michael made a face. Maria was a woman? Since when? He'd always thought of her as just a wacky girl.

"Hey, so that Maria . . ." John grinned. "She's really something, isn't she?"

"Yeah," Michael agreed, afraid of where this was going.

"I mean, she's _really_ something."

"Well, she's clearly crazy."

"I don't think your mom likes her," John went on. "I do."

Michael's sarcasm was evident when he said, "No, really?"

"Oh, yeah. If I wasn't a married man . . ."

"If you weren't fifty."

"Did you see the way she looked naked? Now _that _. . . does she run around like that a lot?"

Michael thought about it and shrugged. "I don't know. Not really. Sometimes. Why are we talking about Maria?"

"Because, she's . . ."

"Really something, I know." Michael sighed. "Look, she's just a friend, and I'm letting her stay with me. That's all."

"I'd let her stay with me." His father grinned again. "All night long."

"Dad!" There was only so much he could take. His brain was becoming filled with so many horrible visuals, he was beginning to think he was scarred for life.

"What? I'm only human," John said in defense of his perversion.

"Yeah, well, so is Maria. You know how many men look at her and think she's just a piece of flesh?" It really bothered Michael when guys did that. It bothered him even more that Maria provoked them to do that, like she had last week when she and Tess had done that dancing up on his counter. He grunted and shook his head.

"And you're telling me you've never looked at her that way?" his father said. "Isabel worked a number on you, didn't she?"

"Dad . . ."

"Well, regardless of what Maria means to you, she must be good for you. Last time we saw you, you couldn't even talk. You were so broken up."

"Well, that was a month after Isabel left." He'd barely even left the house that month.

"Yeah. You know, she was another good-lookin' girl. How do you do it, Son? Are these my genes at work? Can't be. I never . . . no offense to your mother, but . . . you know, Maria's got these legs. I bet they could wrap around a man twice. And Isabel . . . well, we both know what Isabel had. Any verdict on those, by the way? Are those real? Please tell me you found out."

Michael rolled his eyes and reluctantly told his father what he wanted to know about his ex's breasts. "They're real."

"I knew they were. Well, that's good, 'cause her personality always seemed a little fake to me. Maria, on the other hand . . . that girl's as real as it gets!"

"Why-why're you even comparing the two of them? Completely different circumstances. I'm not dating Maria."

"Well, not yet."

"What do you mean that?"

"You know what I mean."

He actually laughed at the suggestion. "No, no way. Never gonna happen. We're totally different people." He'd always said that whole 'opposites attract' myth was just that, a myth.

"Boys, we're back!" Maria's voice rang out suddenly as she and Sylvia returned to the table. Sylvia had made sure to sit in between her husband and the new object of his affection, of course.

"I'm so glad," John said, smiling a huge, dumb smile.

Maria smiled back at him, apparently enjoying the obviousness of his desire. "You didn't have too much fun without us, did you?"

He laughed too loudly as though something were funny. "Oh, of course not."

Michael held his head in his hands and closed his eyes. This was a nightmare. Everything about this was a nightmare. His mother didn't even have to say anything to indicate that she didn't like Maria at all, and his father liked her way too much. He would have rather been at work than at this lunch.

"Well, Maria just told me all about herself," his mother remarked randomly. "_All_ about herself."

"Really?" Michael glanced at Maria, wondering just how much she had told. Modesty wasn't something she valued by any means, and she just smiled at him.

"We were also discussing your upcoming birthday," his mother went on. "It'll be here before we know it. Your father and I still don't know what to get you."

"I suggested a prostitute," Maria chirped.

"Oh, she's amazing!" John exclaimed, almost falling backward out of his chair.

"A prostitute?" Michael echoed, confused as to how that was a present. Was the prostitute the wrapping, and the gift inside was a vast new array of STDs?

"Yeah, you so obviously need one," Maria said. "Don't think I don't know what you're doing when you get up during the middle of _Gossip Girl_ and go to the bathroom . . . for ten minutes."

_Damn,_ he thought, _she caught onto me._ "I have a shy bladder," he denied.

"Not that shy."

"I-I really can't have this conversation."

"Masturbation is perfectly normal, Michael," Maria assured him. "You don't have to feel ashamed."

"That's right," John agreed readily.

"Oh, can someone please shoot me?" Michael grumbled in distress. He couldn't believe that his own mother was having to listen about him jacking-off, and his dad . . . well, his dad's subtle admission that he did as well wasn't really surprising in the slightest. But it was still disturbing. He wasn't even going to be able to eat his food when the waiter finally brought it out. His gag reflex had already been activated one too many times that day.

Sylvia cleared her throat and obviously fought to stay cordial as she said, "Maria, I'm not sure how they do things in your family, but you're out to eat with the Guerin family now, and we don't have these kinds of conversations at the dinner table. Or at all, actually."

"Well, maybe we should," was John's response.

"Oh, John, don't be ridiculous."

"I'm just saying, there's a fine line between being inhibited and being imprisoned. Maybe we all just need to let loose a little."

Maria smiled. "My thoughts exactly."

_Let loose?_ Michael thought. Maria had told him to do the same thing numerous time. And he had. A little. The Halloween party and . . . well, there was pretty much _just _the Halloween party. The thought of his dad loosening up, though . . . that would probably result in some sort of step-sibling, and as for his mom . . . well, she didn't have it in her to do such a thing.

"Oh, here comes our food," Sylvia said, sounding nervous. "Let's eat."

"If you got a prostitute for your birthday, you'd have something _very _tasty to eat," Maria said to Michael.

"Oh god," he muttered. "It never ends."

...

Liz stayed at the tutoring center until closing that day, waiting for Tess. She was beginning to get worried that Tess had backed out, decided not to have a tutor. That wouldn't be good. It would derail her entire plan.

Much to her relief, the buxom blonde walked in at 5:00, just as the tutoring center was about to close. "Hey," she said, "sorry I'm late. I had an interior design club meeting today. It ran super late. But I'm here now."

"I see that," Liz said, noticing the unbuttoned buttons of Tess's top. Something told her it wasn't so much an interior design club meeting as a sex with Max meeting that had delayed her. The thought made Liz insanely jealous.

"Anyway, I brought my class schedule, and my work schedule," Tess said, taking two sheets of paper out of a manila-colored folder. "I only intern twice a week for, like, three hours a day right now, so the work schedule isn't that bad. I think it should be pretty easy to come up with a tutoring time."

"Okay, I'll look it over," Liz said, taking the schedules from her, "and then I'll get back to you, alright? Did you put your phone number on here?"

"Phone and email," Tess said proudly. "Liz, thanks again for this. It really means a lot to me that you're willing to help me."

"It's my job," Liz said simply. Really, she didn't care if Tess passed biology or not. She only cared that Tess eventually dumped Max, freeing him up for someone who could _really _handle him.

"Yeah, but it's really generous of you," Tess said, "of all the tutors, actually, to give of yourselves, your free time and your big brains and your . . ." She trailed off and reached into her pocket when her phone vibrated. "Oh, just a minute." She flipped it open and read a text message, then laughed lightly to herself. "Oh my god."

"What?" Liz asked. If Max had sent her something, she wanted to know.

Tess laughed again. "You know Michael, right? Michael Guerin."

"Danced with him on Halloween."

"Yeah, well, he just sent me a text message. 'My parents are in town, Dad wants to make babies with Maria.'"

"Maria's meeting his parents?"

"Apparently. God, that can't be good. The day Maria makes a good impression on anyone's parents is the day I throw away my black Chanel sunglasses. Not gonna happen."

Liz forced herself to smile, holding back bitterness upon learning that this girl had enough money to buy and wear Chanel sunglasses. _Bitch. _It was probably Max's money. That made it even worse.

"Michael's parents are kinda conservative, too," Tess went on as she texted a reply back to Michael.

"Like Maria's mom?" Liz asked. She had met Amy DeLuca once before, and she'd made a good impression, of course. Then again, she made a good impression on everyone. They all thought she was sweet and at least relatively innocent. Suckers.

"Maria's mom's just blind to life," Tess said. "Michael's parents . . . I don't know, I've never met them, but if they're anything like Michael, I'd say they're not very big on wild, risky behavior. But apparently his dad wants to bone Maria, so . . ." Tess shrugged. "Who knows? Parents can be so weird."

"Yeah," Liz agreed, even though she'd always thought of her own parents as perfectly normal. All of a sudden, she saw an opportunity to inject Kyle into the conversation, so she seized it. "You know, my ex-boyfriend's dad is really great. He's the Sheriff of Roswell, so you'd expect him to be all gruff and mean, but he's actually really nice."

"Who's your boyfriend?" Tess asked.

"_Ex-_boyfriend," Liz made sure to clarify. "Kyle Valenti. You know him?"

"Kyle Valenti." Tess smiled. "Yeah, actually, I think I do. I saw you kissing him the other day. You two looked pretty hot and heavy. Are you sure he's just an ex?"

"Oh . . ." _Crap, _Liz thought. She had forgotten that Tess had probably seen that, too. She had to set the record straight. "No, that was just . . . a way of saying hello is what that was. But he and I have been over for awhile now. In fact, I don't think he's seeing anyone, which is a shame. He's a really great guy."

"Seems nice, from what I can tell," Tess remarked. "You should get back together with him. You'd make an adorable couple."

"Uh . . ." Adorable wasn't what Liz wanted. She wanted that fire and passion and . . . well, sometimes it bordered on hatred. She had all that with Max.

"Anyway, I've gotta go," Tess said. "My boyfriend's taking me out to dinner tonight."

"Oh, that's . . . great." Liz hoped the disappointment on her face wasn't too obvious. It wasn't fair that Tess was with Max. She couldn't possibly work with him. She was way too . . . simple.

"I'll talk to you later, Liz," Tess said as she left the tutoring center, toting her Chanel purse in hand. "See you."

"Yeah," Liz said before muttering under her breath the one word that described her entire state of mind: "Fuck."

...

Michael's parents came back to his apartment and stayed there until it was time to go see their play. They told him they would find a hotel to stay at and that they would be back tomorrow morning to spend some more time on him. He could only pretend to be excited about that. He loved his parents dearly, but his whole weekend was pretty much shot now. He wouldn't have time to paint or do any other homework before Monday.

"Uh, I just wanna go to sleep," Michael groaned after he had shown his mother and father the door. He plopped down on the couch next to Maria (who, as always, seemed to have much more energy than him), and closed his eyes. "Wake me up next semester."

"Oh, come on, today wasn't _that_ exhausting," she said. "It was fun."

He opened his eyes again and turned to give her an incredulous look. "Fun?"

"Yeah."

"You really think so?"

"Yeah, I like your parents."

Michael laughed a little and said, "My dad sure likes you."

"Well, he's got good taste." She smiled and scooted in closer to him. "No, seriously, he's a laugh riot. And I can tell he's just _dying _to let his hair down."

"He's going bald," Michael pointed. Technically, the man didn't have any hear to let down.

"Well, so to speak. He's clearly only restraining himself 'cause of your mom. No offense to her. I like her, too, even if she doesn't like me. But she is majorly uptight. I bet she puts a ton of academic pressure on you."

"Well, sometimes," he admitted, shrugging. "It's alright, though. I pressure myself."

"At least she knows you and accepts you," Maria went on. "When we were in the bathroom at the restaurant, I asked her if she thought you were a virgin, and she said she knows you aren't but she doesn't have a problem with it as long as you're being safe. So much cooler than my mom."

"Yeah, they're good parents," he agreed. He complained about them only sometimes, but compared to someone like Amy DeLuca, they were downright sane and a joy to be around. "I just wish they wouldn't stop by unannounced like this. I didn't even get a chance to . . ." He trailed off.

"What, prepare me? Coach me?" she filled in. "Trust me, it's better this way. I just am who I am, and everyone learns to love me eventually. I guess Papa Guerin's a quick study." She grinned and licked her lips.

"Oh, don't remind me," he groaned dramatically.

"I take it as a compliment; my desirability spans generations."

"Well, that's one way to look at it."

She tilted her head to the side and inquired, "What's the other way?"

"Uh, he's horny. He's fifty and he's horny and that's gross."

"Don't you wanna be horny when you're fifty?"

He hadn't really thought about it. "I don't know."

"Of course you do. Think about it, Michael. You're already halfway to forty."

"So are you," he noted.

"Not the point."

"What is the point then?"

"That he's an all-around cool guy, and you'll be lucky to ever be half as cool as he is."

He grunted and insisted, "I'm cool."

She laughed out loud. "Yeah, right. Since when?"

"Since . . . alright, fine, my dad's cooler," he acquiesced. "Did you know he went to Woodstock when he was eleven?"

Her mouth gaped. "Get out. What, was he a hippie?"

"No, he just went to Woodstock."

"For the sex?" she guessed.

"No."

"Drugs?"

"No."

"Rock 'n' roll?"

He nodded. "Yep."

"Hmm." She thought about it and mumbled, "I'd go for the sex."

He chuckled lightly. "I'm sure you would."

"God, Woodstock . . ." She sighed wistfully. "That'd be a blast."

"Ah, a little crazy." From what he knew, it wouldn't have been his cup of tea.

"And hence a blast."

Michael rested his head back against the couch and stared up at the ceiling. "He still gets tears in his eyes when he hears Jimi Hendrix's rendition of the Star-Spangled Banner," he remarked randomly.

"Sentimentalist, huh? Yeah, apparently my dad got tears in his eyes when he found out I was floating around my mom's belly," she replied. "And not happy tears. More, 'oh, shit, I'd better get out of dodge' tears."

"He's a jerk?" Michael concluded. He'd figured as much since Maria rarely ever talked about her father.

"Big-time. I've got an absentee dad and a blind-to-the-real-world mom. No wonder I'm such a piece of work, huh?"

He leaned in and spoke quietly when he told her, "I kind of like you that way."

"Me, too," she said. "Sometimes. Well, I'm gonna go take a shower."

"I'm gonna go to bed," he announced, rising from the couch. He headed down the hallway, yawning. "You gonna join me?"

"Later," she replied. "I gotta do a little research first for a project."

He scrunched up his forehead in confusion. "Project?" Maria was really getting into the swing of studying. Good for her.

"Yeah," she said as she got up from the couch and slipped past him. "I'll come steal the blankets from you later." She smiled and slipped inside the bathroom, shutting the door.

He laughed inwardly and headed into the bedroom. He figured he'd better enjoy having the blankets all to himself for as long as he could, because whenever she settled in beside them, he always gave them up.


	12. Chapter 12

Michael's parents came over for breakfast the next morning just as they'd told him they would. There was no way he was just going to feed them cereal, so he tried to cook for them, even though cooking was one thing he wasn't very good at. "Alright, scrambled eggs, high quality," he announced, impressed with the way those had turned out. Sometimes luck ran his way in the kitchen. "Hash browns . . . not so hashed, but what the hell? There are starving kids in Africa who'd love to eat 'em." He slid their plates across the counter towards them, and his mother smiled at him.

"That's what I used to say to you when you wouldn't eat your vegetables."

He laughed a little. "I remember."

His father shoved a forkful of eggs into his mouth and nodded his head in approval. "Tastes great, son. Will, uh . . . will Maria be joining us for breakfast?"

"No, I don't think so; she's still asleep," Michael replied.

"Still?" his mother echoed.

"Yeah, she had a late night."

John raised a suggestive eyebrow. "Doing what?"

"I don't know. Sometimes with Maria it's better to subscribe to the don't ask/don't tell policy."

"I wish I had," Sylvia mumbled. "Yesterday she told me quite a bit about herself. More than I ever wanted to know, I'm afraid."

"That's just how she is, Mom." Michael knew his mother didn't like and probably never would like Maria, and that was fine. She was entitled to her own opinions. He just didn't want to have to hear her vocalize those opinions, because he didn't necessarily share those opinions.

"Well, that's what worries me," his mother went on. "Now, don't get mad at me. I gave birth to you; I think that qualifies me for some meddlesome parenting once in awhile. Now, there are things I like about Maria. There are."

John laughed, and the things he liked about Maria were once again quite obvious when he said, "Definitely."

"She's very bubbly and honest and . . . enthusiastic," Sylvia declared.

"About sex?" Michael guessed.

"Well . . . as a matter of fact, yes."

Michael sighed and moved his hash browns around on his plate, not sure if he felt like eating them. "Mom, I'm not dating her," he pointed out.

"Well, from what I understand, dating isn't exactly a prerequisite for her . . . encounters."

"She's just my roommate. And it's just temporary." He gestured towards her untouched plate. "How are the eggs?"

"Oh." Sylvia quickly took a bite, clearly not really tasting them. "Fine. Um, honey, I think I'm just a little worried she's going to derail you, maybe have a negative effect on your academics and your social life."

Michael made a face. He had a social life? News to him.

"And your decision-making," his mother added. "That's all."

"You make it sound like I'm a kid."

"I'm sorry, I don't mean to," she apologized quickly. "It's just . . . oh, don't listen to me. You're doing a good thing by letting her stay here. I know that. I just don't agree with her lifestyle."

He shrugged. "Well, neither do I, but she's an adult. She can do what she wants." He finally gave in and tasted the hash browns. They were . . . pretty bad.

"She can do me," his father blurted out of nowhere.

"Oh, Dad!"

"Jonathon!"

"What?"

Michael's cell phone began vibrating in his pocket, and it came as a major relief. "Thank God," he muttered, flipping it open. "Hello?"

"Hey, Michael, it's me," his boss said. As if it would be anyone else. Edmund Buckley was the only person he knew with a British accent. "Chasey called me a minute ago. She's home sick and can't work today. I was wondering if you might be able to work for her. You'll get paid extra."

"Uh . . ." He rubbed his forehead. Work was both exhausting and rewarding. As much as he hated it, he loved it because it was what allowed him to live completely independently. "Sure. When do you need me there?"

"Usual time," Mr. Buckley answered. "Can you stay 'til 5:00?"

"Yeah. Any tour groups coming in I should know about?"

"One at 3:00, but Alison's going to be there, too, and she's assigned to them, so you should have a pretty easy day. Maybe just start to unpack some of those shipments we got last week."

"Alright, sounds good. I'll be in."

"Thanks, Michael. I appreciate it."

"No problem. Bye."

"Bye."

Michael closed his phone and announced to his parents, "Goin' to work."

"Oh." Sylvia frowned, clearly disappointed. "When?"

"Gotta be in in an hour, and I'm working until 5:00. Sorry, looks like this family weekend's gonna get cut short." He wasn't really bothered by that fact. He loved his mom and dad, but dealing with them and Maria all at once was just too much for anybody.

"Well, we could stay and have dinner with you," his mother said, seemingly pleased by her idea.

"And Maria," his father added, smiling.

Sylvia sent him a sharp look. "John, I'm two 'Maria' comments away from divorcing you."

John lowered his head and mumbled, "Sorry . . ."

_Staying for dinner,_ Michael registered. _Does that mean I have to cook again?_

...

"Maria. Maria, wake up."

Even through her sleep-induced unconsciousness, Maria could feel someone shaking her and hear someone saying her name. It startled her. "What? What? What?" she shrieked, shooting up into a sitting position, her arms and legs flailing about wildly.

"Ah!" Michael yelled, falling backward when her right fist gave him the uppercut.

"Oh! Sorry, Michael."

He propped himself up with one hand, holding the other hand against his jaw. "Ow."

"Sorry," she repeated, laughing a little. "I was dreaming there was a giant chicken chasing me."

"A giant—oh, never mind." He struggled back up onto his feet.

She yawned and asked, "Why're you waking me up so early anyway?"

He gave her an incredulous look and informed her, "It's 10:30."

"That's what I mean. It's practically still nighttime." She snuggled back down into the bed, curled up on her side, and pulled the blankets back up to her neck, all warm and cozy.

"I just wanted to let you know I got called into work," he told her. "I'll be there 'til 5:00. Now my parents have it in their heads they're gonna hang out here all day. Why? I don't know. So if I were you, I'd either keep sleeping or go hang out with Marty or something."

She glanced over her shoulder and smiled teasingly. "_You'd_ hang out with Marty?" That was a surefire way to shed his heterosexuality.

"If I were _you_," he emphasized.

She rolled over onto her back and said, "Well, what if I just hang out here with the 'rents? I can entertain them."

"Uh, I'm not so sure that's a good idea."

"Why not? It's not like I'm gonna give your dad a lap dance. Unless he asks for one."

Michael cringed. "And I just went to a scary visual place. Look, I just wanted to let you know I'm gonna be heading out. Just go back to sleep."

"Okay." She turned over onto her side again. "Have fun at work."

"Yeah, I won't," he said on his way back out into the hallway. "See you later."

"See ya." Maria waited until he shut the door to let the excitement take over her. She smiled, opened her eyes, wide, and sat up. No way was she going back to sleep. She had been serious about entertaining John and Sylvia. They were in desperate need of some good, old-fashioned fun, and she was the most fun person she knew.

...

Kyle visited Michael at work that afternoon after he got done working at the auto shop. When he and Michael had first started talking, he was sure he couldn't possibly be hearing him right.

"So, let me get this straight: You left your parents in your apartment, and you left Maria there with them?" Kyle just couldn't wrap his head around the concept.

"Not my decision," Michael muttered. "Hey, don't lean against the counter. You're all covered in oil-stains."

"That's because, unlike _some _people who sit behind a desk all day except to prance around with the occasional tour group, I actually do manual labor," Kyle joked.

Michael made a face. "I don't prance."

"Yes, you do." Kyle had seen his friend give those walking tours through the museum. He pranced. "'Ooh, look, everybody, here's another Monet. 'Cause you can never have too many of those."

"Hey, they give me a script to follow. I gotta brag up Monet. Give me a break."

"Okay, maybe I'll break open your head so we can take out your brains and see what you _weren't _thinking when you let Maria and your parents hang."

"They're not hanging."

"Pretty sure your dad is."

"Oh, god," Michael said dramatically.

"No, I'm serious," Kyle went on. "You're not a stupid guy, but that was a stupid thing to do. Maria's not parent material, you know? And where is she now? Oh, she's right there with your mom and dad. Perfect. And sooner or later you're mom's gonna get fed up with Maria and lose her damn . . . oh . . ." He spied a splash of blonde hair attached to a petite female walking down the sidewalk out in front of the museum, and he immediately thought it was Tess. "_Hot tamale_!" He ran towards the front doors and peered outside.

"What?" Michael asked.

He quickly realized it wasn't Tess, just someone who looked a little bit like her. Bummer. "Oh . . . never mind. I thought I saw a-"

"Blonde girl who likes pink?" Michael filled in.

"Pussycat," Kyle blurted, for some reason to come up with any other animal. "Pussy . . ." He cringed, wondering why he had chosen the one animal in the world to have that word in its name. "Never mind. I don't know what I'm saying. Just ignore me." Michael was his best friend, but he was also Tess's friend. He couldn't find out about his crush on her, because he might accidentally let something slip. Couldn't have that. Then his very distant dream of dating Ms. Harding would be even more distant.

"Ignore you. Gladly," Michael said. "So, you really think Maria and my parents are gonna be a disaster today?"

"Think it?" Kyle grunted. "I _know _it." There wasn't a doubt in his mind. "You just wait and see."

...

Sylvia couldn't believe it. 1:00 in the afternoon and Maria still wasn't out of bed? The more she learned about this girl, the more she disliked her. She seemed nice enough, but she just wasn't right for Michael, either romantically or in the roommate sense. Her wheels of her mind spun as she strategized. _I could talk to Michael, get him to ask her to leave. I could talk to Maria, convince her to leave on her own. _She felt horrible for thinking the thoughts. Her son was an adult, almost twenty-one now. He could take care of himself, and it wasn't as if Maria was posing some kind of danger to him. She seemed much better than Isabel, but still . . . Sylvia couldn't deny her maternal instinct to shelter her son.

"John," she said, reaching over to tap her husband's shoulder. They had settled on the couch to watch a Sunday afternoon movie on TBS, but neither one of them was really watching. She was worrying, and he was falling asleep. "John, wake up."

"I'm awake," he mumbled sleepily.

"John, I think we need to do something about this living arrangement Michael has going with Maria. Maybe if you talked to him . . . and stopped drooling over the girl for a minute." She was glad her son seemed to have more self-control than her husband.

"Let's just stay out of it," John said. "She's Michael's friend, and he's just lending her a helping hand. He's being the kind of son we raised him to be. There's nothing to worry about."

"But what if she changes him?"

"I don't think she wants to." John yawned and rubbed his forehead. "Oh, Syl, I love you, honey, but sometimes you really worry too much."

"Or you don't worry enough." Sylvia stopped talking when she heard the footsteps shuffling down the hallway. She glanced up, and what she saw surprised her. "Maria?" It was Maria, wasn't it? Michael didn't have any other girls staying there. But she was dressed up in a costume, even though Halloween was over now. She looked . . . well, she looked like a hippie with her long, tie-dyed t-shirt and flared jeans. (They weren't quite large enough to be bell-bottoms, but they were definitely flared.) She had a silver peace sign necklace dangling around her neck and wore very round, John Lennon-like sunglasses over her eyes. She even had on a 60s wig, that made her look like she had straight brown hair all the way down to her knees.

"Oh my god," John said, staring at her in awe. "Just when I think she can't get any better . . ."

"Maria, what're you doing?" Sylvia asked.

"Not Maria. _Rainbow_," she said, flashing them a peace sign with her right hand. "Welcome, gentle souls, to Woodstock . . . 2008!"

...

Michael took the elevator up to the fifth floor of his apartment complex, thinking about all the things he had to do that night. Homework that was due Monday. Lots of it. Probably some laundry, too. And he was going to plan out his monthly budget, taking into account all the new expenses with Maria living there. He was a little behind. He should have done that budget already.

The moment he stepped out of the elevator, his thoughts vanished, only to be replaced with some loud 60's-sounding rock music and singing that was only comparable to fingernails on a chalkboard. He frowned upon realizing that the music was coming from his apartment.

"I'll say come on, come on, come on, come on!"

Was that his mother's voice? Couldn't be. He inserted his key into the door and pushed it open. There was the woman who had given birth to him standing up on the couch with the remote control held in her hand as though it were a microphone.

"Yeah, take it! Take another little piece of my heart now, baby!"

What kind of alternate reality was this? This couldn't be happening. "Mom?" What was she doing? Was she . . . was she _singing karaoke_?

"Break a . . . break another little piece of my heart now, darling."

And there was his dad, cheering her on and hollering like an audience member, and Maria . . . well, Maria was dressed up like a hippie, but that didn't really surprise him. She was naturally insane. His parents weren't. "What're you doing?" he asked all of them, but mostly his mother.

"Oh, Michael!" she exclaimed. "I'm Janis Joplin."

"Woodstock," his father piped up as an explanation.

"Isn't your mom great?" Maria squealed excitedly. "She's embracing her inner hippie."

"And I love it!" Sylvia hollered, throwing her arms in the air. She hopped down off the couch and went back to singing the Janis Joplin song, really getting into it.

"Oh, you missed my rendition of Joan Baez's 'We Shall Overcome,'" Maria said as she skipped towards him. "It was to _die _for."

Michael slowly shut the door to the apartment, still utterly confused and even mildly freaked out. "What's going on here?"

"Fun-having," Maria answered, placing her hands on his chest. "The having of fun."

Michael took another glance at his parents. His mom had let her hair down and was whipping it all around, and his dad was head-banging to the beat.

"Last night when you mentioned that your dad had been to Woodstock, the light bulb clicked on," Maria explained. "I decided to recreate it for him. I knew this would get him to let loose, and luckily your mom's played along. With a little convincing, of course."

"Of course," he agreed. "She's rocking."

"I know, right?" Maria smiled, seemingly proud of herself. "I love this side of her. We're having so much fun. We even did fake drugs. You want some?"

"No."

"Michael, you can't be a drug-free hippie. It's just impossible."

"According to . . ."

"Wikipedia."

He chuckled and remarked sarcastically, "Oh, that's a reliable source."

"Shut up! I'm just proud of myself for doing research." When the song ended and Sylvia quit rocking out, Maria said, "Oh, Janis Joplin, gentle souls. Rock on!"

"Yeah!" Sylvia screamed.

"And the crowd goes wild!" Maria cupped her hands over her mouth and breathed out through her open mouth heavily, imitating the roar of a large group of people.

"More drugs! More drugs!" John chanted.

"Can we have more drugs, Rainbow?" Sylvia asked.

Michael gave her a look. "Rainbow?"

"Yes, and you're River. River and Rainbow," she informed him. "We shall do a duet later."

"We shall?"

"Yes, but in the meantime . . ." She trailed off and went over to the CD player, backtracking towards a song. _She must have burnt that CD last night while she was doing her 'research,'_ he realized. He'd had no idea that she was doing all this.

"We shall overcome!" she started in, both of Michael's parents quickly joining her in Joan Baez's Woodstock hit. "We shall overcome!"

"This is so ridiculous," Michael muttered, unable to keep from laughing a little. Seeing his parents playing around like big kids was pretty funny. And Maria always found a way to be hilarious.

"Oh, but wait." She stopped the song suddenly and said, "Those lucky listeners who have stuck around are in for a rare and _psychedelic_ treat. Please welcome to the stage, with his rendition of the National Anthem, Mr. Jimi Hendrix!" She made a grand gesture towards John, and Sylvia began to jump and clap her hands wildly.

_Oh, he's gonna love this,_ Michael thought. When Maria changed the song to the sharp electric sound of the Hendrix rendition, John's eyes immediately filled up with tears, and he grabbed hold of a pillow and pretended to play the same guitar chords Jimi had years ago.

Maria came to stand beside Michael, and they stood back and watched John's performance. Michael couldn't remember seeing his dad look so happy, and he knew he had Maria to thank for that. "This was . . . pretty great of you," he told her.

She smiled. "I know."

John kept playing until the end of the song, and once he was done, Maria raved, "Oh, Jimi Hendrix, that was extraordinary! Wasn't that extraordinary?"

"Extraordinary!" Sylvia exclaimed. "More sex! More drugs! More music!"

_Unreal,_ Michael thought. He had never seen his mom be so cool.

"More Woodstock. We love Woodstock 2008," Maria said as The Who's popular and ever-lasting "My Generation" came on. "Woo! Everybody dance crazy!"

Sylvia and John didn't waste a minute. They started jumping all around, throwing their arms in the air like maniacs. Michael almost died when his mother actually took off her sweater and started twirling it around in the air. "Mom!" Luckily she was wearing something underneath, otherwise he would have been scarred for life.

"Dance, River!" Maria said, grabbing his hands.

"Maria . . ."

"Who's this 'Maria' you speak of? I'm Rainbow," she reminded him, shaking his arms up and down, trying to get him to feel the music. "Come on, River, let loose! Woo!"

Could he do that?

He watched her jumping all around in front of him, shaking her hips and the hair of that brown hippie wig, and he was amazed at the way the music just took over her, mixing with her giggles. He realized in that very simple, very out of control moment . . .

Yeah. He could let loose, too.

...

Michael's parents didn't decide to leave until it got dark outside. Really, none of them had noticed the time flying by. They had been too busy with Woodstock and dinner. When it was time to go, Sylvia pulled Michael aside to talk to him.

"Honey, I know I don't say this a lot, but I was wrong," she started out.

_Hmm,_ he thought. _She really doesn't say that a lot._ "About Maria?" he guessed.

She nodded. "I thought she was one of _those_ girls you always hear about. You know. But as it turns out, she's not a bad girl."

Michael laughed a little. "Well, she's got a good heart, but she's still got her bad behavior." He shrugged. "Oh, well. That's alright." He couldn't imagine Maria being anyone other than the who she was.

"Well, a good heart matters more," his mother said, "and that's something Isabel . . ." She trailed off and shook her head.

Michael didn't want to talk or think about his ex. He hadn't been thinking about her all day, and he wanted to keep it that way. "You know, I think I misjudged Maria when I first met her," he admitted. "I've known her for two years now, and I've just thought of her as my wildest, craziest friend. One of my only friends, really, but just totally and completely out there. And of course, she is still that, but I'm starting to realize . . . there's a lot more to her. You know?"

His mother nodded again. "Yesterday I would've disagreed with you, but now . . . I think you're right."

Michael smiled, happy to hear that. "So did you have fun today?" he asked her.

"I had a lot of fun today," she replied. "I really enjoyed myself for the first time in a long time. I kind of felt like a big kid."

"So, which was better," he questioned, "Woodstock 2008 or the _King Lear_ show you and Dad went to last night?"

She didn't even hesitate. "Oh, Woodstock, no question."

"Really?"

"Oh my gosh, yes. That performance last night was so boring."

"It really was," Michael's father agreed, coming up behind him. "She was snoring."

"Where were you?" Michael asked him.

"Saying goodbye to Maria." He sighed wistfully. "Boy, I'm gonna miss her."

"I'm sure you will," Michael said.

Sylvia cleared her throat and gave her husband a sharp, warning look. John seemed to get the hint, because he put his arm around her and quickly added, "But at least I have your wonderful mother to kiss and love and squeeze."

Michael made a face. "Don't—please Dad, please, don't say words. I'm begging you."

Sylvia laughed a little, patting her husband on the stomach and said, "Well, we should get going. We'll call you when we get home."

"Alright, you better take Highway 84," Michael advised them. "Highway 70's lane markings are hard to see at night."

"Will do, son." John gave him a manly hug and said, "See you at Thanksgiving."

"Alright, I'll see you." Michael let go of his father and hugged his mother. "Bye, Mom."

"Oh, bye, sweetie." She sounded a little emotional. She always got that way when she said goodbye to him. "I love you."

"Love you, too," he returned.

She reluctantly let go of him, and John practically had to pull her out the door. "Bye," she said, waving at him.

"Thanksgiving's only a couple weeks away," he reminded her. "Bye, Mom."

She started dotting at the tears in her eyes as they started down the hallway. Once they turned the corner, he closed the door and took a moment to get used to the feeling of having his apartment all to himself again. Well, _almost _all to himself. He smiled and headed down the hallway to find Maria. He found her in the bathroom removing her hippie attire.

"Hey," she said as she took off the long, brown wig. The damn thing looked like it weighed ten pounds.

"Hey," he returned. "Well, they're gone."

"Aw, that's sad." She pouted. "I'm gonna miss them."

"Really?"

"Yeah, I really like them."

"Yeah, me, too." He was a little surprised how the weekend had turned out. Initially when they had shown up, he had thought they would only add some much unneeded stress to his life, but seeing them let loose and then letting loose with them had actually turned out to be really fun, and fun was something he tended to be lacking.

She reached behind her neck to try to unhook her peace sign necklace and frowned in frustration when she couldn't get it undone. "Can you get this?" she asked.

"Yeah."

She turned around, and he stepped up behind her to undo the necklace. "Why do you have all these clothes, anyway?" he asked, unhooking it.

She laughed as he dropped the necklace into her hands and turned around to face him.

"I mean, flared jeans I can see. Even the tie-dyed shirt and the peace sign necklace. But the brown wig?"

"Well, what can I say? I'm your one-stop spot to shop for all your fashion needs." She smiled.

"I don't need a brown wig."

"Oh, sure you do. Here." She lifted up the wig and set it down atop his head. He just let her, knowing she wouldn't give in until she saw what he looked like in it. "Aw, you look pretty," she remarked.

"I bet I do."

She laughed again. "You know, long hair's all the rage these days, for girls _and _guys."

"Says who? Wikipedia?"

"Says me. We should superglue this wig to your head."

"What? No, no!" He immediately took the wig off and threw it to the bathroom floor.

"Ooh, I freaked you out," she teased.

"Yeah, you did. I like my hair the way it is."

"It's kinda sexy," she agreed, running her fingers through his spiky mane.

"You think so?"

"Yeah. Mine's sexier."

He had a sneaking suspicion everything about her was sexier.

She hopped up on the bathroom counter and suddenly changed the subject. "Hey, so, uh, sorry we weren't able to get that painting done this weekend."

He shrugged, actually sort of relieved about that. "That's okay. I didn't have time to do hardly any homework this weekend."

"Well, maybe tomorrow we can do the painting," she said, "like after classes?"

He didn't have to work tomorrow afternoon, but . . . "I don't know."

"You don't know?" She frowned. "No, Michael, you can't wimp out on me now. You promised."

"I didn't promise anything."

"Well, you told me you'd paint my picture, and I'm counting it as a promise," she informed him. "Tomorrow afternoon, Michael. Evening at the latest. You're painting; I'm posing."

He thought it was kind of funny that she just made the decision and didn't leave any room for argument.

"You owe me," she said. "I sacrificed an entire weekend of partying to stay home with you and your _padres_. I haven't done that in, like . . . ever."

He laughed lightly. "So this is how I repay you, by painting you?"

She shrugged. "Well, it's either that or oral sex."

"Okay, painting it is."

She grinned. "Are you sure?"

_What?_ "Are you serious?"

She giggled and poked his side with her foot. "I'm joking. We're painting, River. Got it?"

"Got it, Rainbow."

She hopped down off the counter and slid past him. "It's gonna be a nude," she said in a sing-song voice as she turned the corner towards the bedroom.

"It's not gonna be a nude," he called back. He chuckled and shook his head. Maybe it would be a nude.

...

"So, Michael's gonna paint you?" Liz smiled teasingly as she and Maria waited for macroeconomics class to start the next day. "That sounds kinda . . . well, all I can think about is Jack and Rose on _Titanic_."

"Okay, those were totally different circumstances," Maria told her. "First of all, Jack _drew_ Rose; he didn't paint her. Second, they were on a soon-to-be sinking ship. Third, they were in love. Michael and I are in 521."

"Well, I think it'd be neat," Liz remarked, "having a talented artist capture your image on canvas. It's, like, permanent beauty."

"Well, I already have that," Maria said, "but yeah, it is neat. Don't tell anyone, though, but it's more for him than it is for me."

"Don't tell anyone?" Liz echoed questioningly.

"Yeah. I can't let people know I can be compassionate. It'll ruin my reputation."

Liz tossed her head back and laughed.

The professor came into the classroom with a stack of papers in her hands. Everyone fell silent as she announced, "Your tests are graded. Come and get 'em."

Maria grunted and rose from her seat. "Like we're pigs on the farm or something," she grumbled. "Come and get it."

"Come and get it," Liz echoed. The two of them headed down to the front of the lecture hall where all the nerds lived and became part of the frantic and disorganized system of students rifling through the stack of tests to find theirs. Maria found hers quickly. She picked it up, and her eyes almost bulged out of their sockets when she saw the grade written in red pen and circled in the right-hand corner. "Holy fuck!" she screamed in delight. She held her test up in the air and jumped up and down excitedly. "Oh my god! Oh my _god_!"

"What? What?" Liz asked concernedly.

"I got an A+! I got an A+!" Maria chirped. "98 percent, Liz. I . . . ah, I don't even know what to say! A+! _A+_?" She knocked a few people over in the midst of her excitement, but she didn't care.

"Wow," Liz said. "That's great, Maria."

"I know! I'm so freaking out!" She really couldn't believe it. An A- she could fathom. Even an A could be attributed to luck. But an A+ . . . that could only be attributed to her.

"What the hell?" Maria faintly registered hearing Liz say.

"Oh my god, I'm so happy!"

Liz held up her test, which had a much different grade on it. "I got a C-."

"Oh." Maria stopped jumping despite her overwhelming desire to jump right up on the professor's lecture podium and take all her clothes off. "Well, you passed."

"I've never gotten a C before," Liz muttered sadly, "let alone a C-."

"Liz, it's okay," Maria assured her as they squeezed through the crowd of students back to their seats.

"It's not okay," Liz insisted.

"I get C's all the time. Sometimes worse."

"I was distracted," Liz said, still staring at her test in disbelief. "I'd just gone and talked to . . . I was distracted."

"You'll do better next time," Maria assured her, feeling a bit unnatural in the role of achiever. "We can study together."

"I guess," Liz said as they sat back down in their seats. "Whatever. Out of sight, out of mind, right?" She folded up the test and stuffed it into her purse. "I'll dwell on it later."

"I'll celebrate later."

"No, celebrate now," Liz said. "You did so well. You should be proud."

"Well . . . I am proud," Maria admitted. "I can't wait to tell Michael and Tess . . ." She caught herself as she was saying it and trailed off abruptly. "I-I mean Michael. He's gonna be so glad."

"You miss Tess," Liz concluded.

"I do not."

"Yes, you do. You just said-"

"Slip of the tongue," Maria cut in quickly. "Tess is dead to me."

"Kinda harsh," Liz remarked.

"Well, no, she's not _dead_ to me," Maria acknowledged. "She's my ex-best friend. It's a thing."

"A thing where you miss her."

"No." _Maybe,_ she thought. _Dammit._ "I'm . . . _used_ to her. I mean, you know somebody for so long, and suddenly . . ." She trailed off and sighed. "Tess and I were best friends in, like, the womb, you know? Our moms were in Lamaze class together. We were born two hours apart. We were in neighboring incubators."

"Aw . . ."

"I was cuter," Maria made sure to add. It was true. Tess had been a fat baby and a bald toddler. That was what the pictures showed. Photographic evidence of early ugliness.

"I still don't understand why you guys stopped being friends," Liz said. "I mean, was it mainly because of Max? Only because of Max?"

Maria shrugged, because she didn't really have the answers. "I don't know. It sounds stupid, but I can't even remember. I mean, there were little things, like Tess's obsession with pink, her unbearable PMS, her kooky ideas that buying food somehow makes it her property. But Max was a big part of it. He put a wedge between us, because he's just the one thing we can't agree on. He's _so_ horrible, Liz. You have no idea."

"Well, why do you hate him so much?" Liz asked. "What did he do to you?"

"It's . . . not anything he did to me; it's the way he treats Tess. He doesn't care about her at all. I'd be shocked if he _doesn't_ have some hyper-sexed bimbo on the side."

"Oh," Liz said. "Um . . ."

"I just wish Tess wasn't dating him."

"Yeah," Liz sighed. "Me, too."

Maria shot her friend a confused look. "What do you mean by that?"

"Oh, just that . . . well, he's a jerk, like you said," Liz explained. "And Tess is . . . well, I don't know her very well, but I'm gonna be tutoring her for biology, and she seems very . . . very nice."

"Well, I wouldn't go that far," Maria said. "No, honestly, when Tess isn't around Max, she's bearable. She's . . . I guess I do miss her sometimes. Living with Michael's great, but Tess was my gal-pal, you know?"

"I can be your gal-pal," Liz volunteered.

"You are," Maria assured her. "I know you have that same bad boy attraction Tess and I have, though, so just don't fall in love with someone Max-like, and we'll be friends forever."

"Oh," Liz said laughing a little. "That's . . . funny."

"I thought so," Maria said, dropping her voice to a whisper as the professor began to start her lecture. "So, what should I _not_ wear when Michael paints my picture today?"

...

Tess had a feeling that she and Max would end up in a traffic jam that day. Her biology professor always took attendance at the beginning of class and awarded points to students who were there and deducted points from students who were not. She really needed all the points she could get in that class. "Max, just drive faster," she said. "My class starts in two minutes."

"I can't. Don't you notice the cars all around me?" he bit back.

"Yeah, but . . ." She sighed in frustration. There was no way she was going to get those attendance points. She had picked the wrong day to be running late. Santa Fe University was hosting a softball tournament, and anyone who had nothing better to do (which was pretty much everyone in the area) was going there to watch it. They were stuck in the midst of a very frustrating traffic jam.

"We should've left earlier," she said. "We should've waited to . . . _do stuff _until tonight."

He shook his head. "No can do. I'm meeting with my dad tonight."

"Again?" She couldn't contain the whininess of her own voice. As far as she was concerned, she had every right to complain. Her boyfriend spent more time with his father than he did with her.

"It's important," Max insisted.

"It always is, isn't it?"

"I'm serious, Tess. I'm so close. Every Evans hotel in New Mexico could belong to me within a matter of months."

"You sound so Caesar," she remarked, not sure that she liked it. "You really think he's gonna let you have control over the hotels? You're not Donald Trump, Max. You're a twenty-one year old junior in college."

"Who also happens to be the man's son. I'm gonna make it happen," he promised.

"And how are you gonna do that?"

"Pay his cardiologist a large sum of money to tell him his heart condition's getting worse." Max grinned. "That'll add a little urgency."

Tess stared at him in horror and astonishment. "That's horrible!"

"No, it's smart. And it's a good thing for you, too, you know. The richer I get, the richer you get."

"No, not really. You haven't asked me to marry you yet," she pointed out.

"Well, don't hold your breath on that." He laughed a little. "I'm busy, can't be tied down with marriage right now."

She grunted in disbelief. "You think you can run a multi-million dollar hotel chain but you can't put a ring on my finger?"

"Yep, that pretty much sums it up." He smiled at her as though that were somehow funny or good news.

"Unbelievable," she muttered, reaching down in front of her feet to open her backpack. They were still merely inching forward down the highway, but she didn't have the energy to get out and walk. She figured she would do some studying while they were stuck in the jam so she didn't have to have this utterly mortifying conversation with Max.

"What're you doing?" he asked her.

"Studying," she replied simply. She was beginning to doubt he even knew what studying was. She had never actually seen him crack open a textbook or sit down to type a paper. He probably just paid his professors to give him passing grades. That was Max's solution to everything. Spend a little money, and all was right in his world.

"That's not what you're supposed to do in a traffic jam."

She hadn't even gotten through the first paragraph of the chapter when he said that. "What?" She stared at him, and she didn't know what he was talking about. When he reached down to his lap to grin and undo his jeans, she did.

"It'd make me happy," he told her.

She knew it would, and if he would have suggested the idea in the privacy of either of their homes sometime that evening, she would have gladly obliged; but this . . . "Oh, forget it. I'm not going down on you while you're driving," she resisted emphatically.

"I know girls who would."

"Well, maybe you should be dating one of those girls." She grunted and shook her head in disbelief. She thought she heard him mutter 'Sometimes I wish I was,' but she couldn't be sure, so she tried to pretend she didn't hear anything at all.

He zipped up his pants as the pace of the traffic slowly began to pick up. "Fine, if you don't wanna play . . ."

She cast another glance at him, and she worried. Worried she was losing him. Max didn't appreciate defiance in a significant other. He appreciated submission. It was an act she had down to an art form.

Tess closed her book and dropped it back down into her backpack. Then she unclipped her seatbelt and slid over towards him, placing one hand on the slight bulge in his jeans. "Max . . ."

"No, forget it," he snapped, pushing her hand away. "We're on our way out of the traffic jam now."

She knew she had disappointed him, and the fact that she cared so much disappointed _her_. She slid back over into the passenger's seat and curled her legs up to be as small as possible. She gazed out the window and longed to be out of that car for awhile. Just for a little while.

...

Maria lay on the couch late that afternoon, her naked body covered in only a sheet. She and Michael had compromised on whether or not the painting should be a nude. Now it was _risqué_. Every once in awhile she tried to subtly urge the sheet down to reveal a little nipple—because really, did a little nipple ever hurt anyone?—but he always gave her a look and motioned for her to pull the sheet back up. Always a gentleman.

When he stepped back to stare at his canvas in silence for a few minutes, Maria went ahead and asked, "Are you done?" She wasn't supposed to talk. Michael had specifically told her to quit being a motor-mouth while she was posing. But if he was done, she didn't want to just keep laying there. She was getting an elbow cramp.

"Yeah," he mumbled in response.

"Ooh, yea, can I see it?" She wrapped the sheet around herself and sprung up from the couch.

"I don't think so," he said.

"Why not?"

He took a few steps forward and placed his hands on her shoulders to halt her forward progress. "It didn't turn out just the greatest."

She made a face. "It's a painting of _me_. How bad can it be?" She tried to step forward, but he kept his hands on her shoulders, holding her back.

"No, Maria-"

"Come on, let me see."

"Maria . . ."

"It can't be that . . ." She finally managed to push past him, and when she finally caught a glimpse of the painting, she realized why he had been so eager to hide it. "Oh." It looked . . . she looked . . . She wanted to say something nice, something comforting and possibly even encouraging, but she couldn't come up with anything. "Do I really look like that?"

He sighed in frustration and came back to stand behind the canvas. "No, of course not."

"Because I look like a cartoon in this," she went on, noting the largeness of her eyes and lips in proportion to the rest of her face, her rather misshapen hands. "Or maybe that's what you were going for?"

He shook his head. "No."

"Oh. Didn't think so." She studied the painting some more, and it baffled her. How could the guy who had painted those beautiful, _remarkable_ paintings of Isabel Evans paint this animation-esque picture of her? The works seemed like they were done by two completely different artists.

"I'm sorry," she apologized.

He shot her an incredulous look. "Why are you apologizing?"

She shrugged and wrapped the sheet tighter around herself. Michael wasn't two artists; he was one artist. His subjects were what had changed.

"No, it's not your fault," he said, beginning to pace back and forth in front of the couch. "You did your part. You're not the problem. I am. I mean, I've-I've never really had this happen before. I don't know what's wrong with me; I just . . . I couldn't make it happen, couldn't get the job done."

She took a moment to think about what he was saying, and then she burst into laughter.

"What?" he said. "What? This isn't funny."

"Kind of is, actually," she insisted, forcing her laughter to die down prematurely. "This is starting to sound less like a conversation about a painting and more like a conversation about erectile dysfunction."

"Oh, well . . . no problem there."

"Oh my god, that's it!" she exclaimed as it dawned on her. "I get it now. Art is totally like sex to you."

"It is?"

"Yeah. That's why you don't jack off nearly as much as most girlfriendless guys. You know, like Kyle." She chuckled lightly. "It all makes sense. That's why you were so reluctant to paint me at first. It's performance anxiety. And for you, a perfect painting's like having an orgasm, and a painting like this is the equivalent of, you know, not being able to get it up."

He looked at her with an expression of pure, undiluted horror. "This isn't making me feel better."

She shrugged. "Maybe there's like an artist's Viagra?"

"Artist's Viagra," he echoed. "No, no, I don't think so."

"Well, we tried," she reminded him. "That's the important thing. We can try again."

"No, we can't," he said. "Look, Maria, thank you for trying to help me. It was . . . good of you to try. But I gotta face reality here: I'm never gonna paint people again, because I suck at it."

"But you didn't-"

"But I do now," he cut in. "Okay? It's fine. It doesn't matter." Looking disheartened and discouraged, he trudged into the bedroom and shut the door. Maria remained standing behind the canvas, looking at the complete and utter disappointment of a painting in front of her. She sighed heavily. He said it didn't matter, but it did. It mattered to him. And because it mattered to him, it mattered to her, too.


	13. Chapter 13

"No, Professor Jenkins, you don't understand. There was a traffic jam." Tess was begging with her professor, pleading with him to show some leniency. The stuffy old man refused to give her attendance points for the day when she had been there for the majority of his long and boring lecture.

"Of course I understand. I was stuck in the same jam. The difference is, I still showed up on time."

"But I was only five minutes late," she reminded him.

"And during that five minutes I took attendance." Professor Jenkins smiled as though he were pleased with his stubbornness. "That's the way the cookie crumbles."

Tess ignored the cheesy expression and kept on trying, even though she knew it was hopeless. "But I was here for the majority of the time. And I was listening. I even took notes. I learned all about, uh . . . uh . . ." She squinted her eyes shut and twirled her hand around in the air, trying to come up with the word.

"Cells?" he filled in.

"Cells. Yes. I'm a cell _aficionado_ now. Thanks to you." She smiled sweetly, playing one of the few cards she had left.

"I'm sorry, Ms. Harding," Professor Jenkins said, "but if I start to make exceptions for you, I'll have to make exceptions for everyone; and we can't have that, now can we?" He smiled again as though he were actually enjoying this reign of superiority.

"Professor Jenkins, I really need those attendance points," she said. "I'm already failing."

"Then my advice would be to get a tutor."

"Well, I have a tutor. She just hasn't started tutoring me yet." She made a mental note to get a hold of Liz sometime within the next few days if Liz didn't get a hold of her first. She didn't have her number, but she could always ask Maria . . .

And her life just kept on sucking.

"Nothing I can do," the professor said simply. "Now if you don't mind, I have a meeting with another student in five minutes, and unlike you, I never show up late." The professor grabbed his briefcase and stalked out of the lecture auditorium like a big, fat know-it-all. Tess growled low in her throat and sulked out of the room.

When she stepped outside, she had expected to see Max parked by the curb in his beloved black Porsche—one of three cars he owned—waiting for her. Actually, she hadn't expected to see that. She'd been _hoping _to see that. Max only followed through with fifty percent of the things he promised he would do, though, so when he had promised to pick her up after class, she'd known right then and there not to believe him.

"Dammit, Max," she grumbled. On a normal day, she could handle this. On a bad-mood day . . . not so much.

She had just begun walking down the sidewalk, thinking that things couldn't possibly get worse when suddenly they did. First she heard the loud roar of thunder, and then she felt the rain. It started to fall without warning, first as tiny droplets, and then as big, fat droplets, and before she knew it, it was coming down in sheets. She had no umbrella, so she picked up the first umbrella-like item she found—a discarded newspaper lying on the sidewalk—unfolded it and held it up above her head to try to give herself some sort of shelter from the storm. It wasn't very effective. In fact, some of the raindrops fell so hard that they punched holes right through the newspaper. So she ran.

She had rounded the corner around the back of the Student Union and was running, so focused on getting to the bus stop as fast as she could that she ran into a guy. "Sorry," she apologized, not even stopping to look at him. She just kept running.

"Tess?"

_Great, someone who knows me,_ she thought, coming to a stop. She turned around, thinking that now wasn't the best time for a conversation with anyone, and she peered through the rain to see a semi-familiar face. "Kyle?" She should have known it would be someone like this Kyle kid. There were certain people she always ran into randomly.

"Hey," he said, coming towards her.

"Hey," she echoed, so jealous of the umbrella he was holding. And it was sort of pink, too. More red than pink, but still pinkish. Bonus.

"Where you goin'?" he asked.

"Bus stop," she replied, blinking as raindrops landed on her eyes. "My boyfriend was supposed to come pick me up, but he didn't show."

"Oh, well, I'm parked right over there in the commuter lot," Kyle said. "I could give you a ride."

She looked him over for a minute, wondering if she should. She didn't know him very well, but he seemed nice. He was always helping her, catching her when she was falling. Why not add a little rainstorm rescue to the résumé?

"Okay," she said. "Thanks."

He smiled and held out his umbrella. "Oh, here. Get under."

"Thanks." She littered her battered newspaper on the ground and let the wind take it away.

They had just walked a few feet beneath Kyle's umbrella when the wind caught it and flipped it upward into a bowl shape. "Oh, shoot," Kyle muttered, trying to regain control of it. He tried to get the umbrella back into its normal shape, but it seemed sort of stuck. Tess stood back and watched him struggle for a moment, wondering if she should try to help, but Kyle quickly gave up. He threw his now useless umbrella down on the sidewalk and said, "Run!"

She laughed a little, and they ran in the rain towards the parking lot.

...

"So just remember that sine and cosine graphs are continuous, but the others like secant and cosecant have asymptotes. Okay?" Liz plastered a fake, encouraging smile on her face as she worked with a college senior named Johnny at the tutoring center that day. He was by far the dumbest person she had ever met. Either that or he just had a crush on her and was pretending to be dumb to spend time around her. Traditionally idiots were great fuckers, so she figured she might try him out in bed sometime over the weekend. She really needed some good sex in her life.

"Alright, that makes sense," Johnny said. "Thanks, Liz."

"No problem." She kept that smile on her face until she spun around and walked away. She made her way over to her fellow tutor, Lynn, who was in turn walking towards her, and grumbled, "I swear, I've told this kid, like, fifty times . . ."

"Someone's here to see you," Lynn interrupted.

"Who?"

"I don't know," Lynn replied, "but he was asking for you."

_He?_ She glanced over her shoulder, and her breath caught when she saw the source of all her agony and arousal. Max was sitting at a table all by himself, grinning at her, his hands folded together atop his lap.

"Stud-muffin," Lynn remarked. "He makes me wanna say 'so long' to lesbianism."

"Stick with lesbianism," Liz told her. As far as she could tell, her own life would be much easier if she liked girls.

She made her way over to Max, but she didn't sit down. She stood beside the table, crossed her arms over her chest, and glared down at him hostilely. "What're you doing here?"

"You're a tutor. I need tutoring," Max answered simply.

"You do not."

"Yes, I do," he insisted. "I'm failing . . ." He trailed off and began to laugh. "I have to be honest, I've got a 4.0 without even trying. It's almost too easy."

The man was always up for a challenge. "You should leave, Max," she suggested, turning to start away.

"You should sit down."

She knew she shouldn't have, but she stopped, turned back around, and slid into the chair across the table. "Make it quick," she bit out impatiently.

"Well, that's no fun." He leered at her suggestively, but she refused to show any sign of interest. This time. She had to play hard to get once in awhile, otherwise she would be as easy as his 4.0 grade point average.

"Come on, lighten up," he urged.

"I'm at work, Max."

"So?"

"So? You can't just barge in here and try to frazzle me and make me nervous and . . . get under my skin."

"Oh, I love being under your skin."

Dirty talk. It was a major trigger for the both of them. "Stop that," she said.

"Stop what?"

"Being you."

"But you like me."

"I _loathe_ you," she informed him, and it was true. She did. But then again, she was the kind of person who had to loathe somebody to truly like them. "I don't understand why you're suddenly so into me."

"It's not sudden," he argued. "I've just been seeing you around a lot lately. I'm reminded of all the great sex we used to have together. It makes me hard."

"That was a fling, and it was a year ago. And you and Tess were broken up at the time."

"Maybe I just miss you," he said. "Maybe I just want you."

"Maybe you're just a jerk," she muttered.

"Or maybe . . ." He leaned in and lowered his voice. "Maybe it's the sheer erotica of it all. The fact that we shouldn't even be having this conversation right now, or the idea that if I were to bend you over this table and fuck you senseless right here in front of everyone, you'd love every second of it . . . maybe _that's_ what turns us on."

Her mind flooded with images, and her body began to tingle with phantom feelings. She hadn't forgotten what it felt like to be joined to Max, never would. When they plastered themselves together like that, worlds shook.

"Just get out of here, Max," she managed, already planning a date with her favorite vibrator when she got home. She pushed the chair back and rose to her feet, walking away from him.

"I'm not asking you to be the other woman," he called after her, almost loud enough for other people to hear. "I'm asking you to be the _only_ woman. Because Tess, compared to you . . . she's just a girl. A girl I like to play with."

She kept her back facing him and muttered, "Go play with yourself," as she went to help Johnny with his trigonometry again. She felt Max staring at her the whole time, but she refused to look at him. All she had to do was resist until Tess was no longer a factor. Then she could look at him all she wanted to.

...

Kyle pulled up in front of Tess's apartment complex and put the car into park. "Huh, The Links," he remarked. "Looks nice." Hell, had he known that Tess lived there when he had first gone apartment hunting, he wouldn't have even _considered _living in the Fairview complex.

"It is," Tess said. "My apartment's the cutest in the building, of course."

"Of course." He smiled nervously and said, "Well, try not to . . . get wet." He quickly realized how perverse that could sound and amended, "Stay dry, is what I'm saying. Stay dry."

"I plan on it." She reached for the handle on the car door, but stopped just as she was about to open the door and turned to look at him. "You wanna come in?"

"Uh . . ." He couldn't form sentences. "What? Did you . . . I mean, uh . . . what?"

"Come on, it's raining pretty hard. You shouldn't be driving in this kind of weather."

"I shouldn't?" he echoed questioning. "I mean, _I shouldn't_."

She laughed lightly. "Come on." She climbed out of the car and scurried towards the building, eager to get out of the rain.

"Oh, yeah," Kyle said to himself, getting out of the car. He slammed the door and sang some appropriate song lyrics. "He's a magic _man_!"

He followed Tess up the stairs to the third floor and down the hotel-like hallway to apartment 315. "Nice hallway," he remarked.

"Not bad," she agreed, inserting her key and pushing open the door.

Kyle stood in the doorway, and his mouth dropped open when he glimpsed the inside of Tess's apartment. "Wow," he said. "It's very . . . pink."

"My favorite color," she chirped, tossing her purse down onto the couch. "Come on in."

_I can't believe I'm doing this,_ he thought, hesitantly stepping through the threshold. _Wow._ He wished he could think something more profound, but it was the only thought that crossed his mind. _Wow._ He was standing in the place where Tess Harding _lived_, where she slept, where she showered, where she had sex . . .

_Wow._

"You wanna dry off?" she asked.

"How-how am I gonna do that?" he stuttered nervously.

"Get out of those clothes."

His eyes almost bulged right out of his head. "Excuse me?" What was she suggesting?

"Your clothes are soaked," she pointed out. "Max has some shirts and sweats stored here. He'll never even notice they're gone. He never notices anything unless it has a dollar sign attached to it." She hung her head and muttered that last part under her breath.

_I feel bad for her,_ Kyle thought. He didn't know much about Max Evans, but he knew enough to know that he wasn't the world's greatest guy, that Tess deserved somebody better. "I'd love a change of clothes," he said, hoping to get her mind off her no-show of a significant other.

"Okay." She smiled at him and headed down the hallway, ducking into one of the bedrooms. Kyle took that opportunity to look around a little. He spied a picture of Max and Tess sitting on the end table next to the couch. Kyle picked up the frame and took a look at the photo. Max had his arm around Tess, and Tess had her head on his shoulder. They were both smiling close-mouthed, contented smiles, but neither one of them actually looked very content.

The back of the picture frame popped out, and Kyle quickly tried to pop it back in. Before he did, though, he noticed a second picture wedged back behind the picture of Max and Tess. It was a picture of Tess and Maria, apparently on spring break. They both looked a little younger and very drunk. And very pretty.

"Alright, here you go."

Startled, Kyle dropped the picture frame, and the picture of Maria and Tess fluttered to the ground right next to Tess's feet. "Sorry," he apologized. "I was just . . . sorry."

"That's okay," Tess's said, bending down to pick up the picture. She stared at it for a few seconds, then tore it in half and tossed both halves into the trash can.

"Sorry," he said again, setting the picture frame back up where it belonged. He wished he could tear that picture of Max and Tess apart. That would have been neat.

"Here you go," Tess repeated, handing him a handful of clothes.

"Thank you." He looked down at the clothes, then looked at her, wondering if she just expected him to drop his pants right in front of her. Probably not. That would be too good to be true.

"Bathroom's down the hall," she told him.

"Right." He laughed a little and made his way down the hallway to the bathroom. When he shut the door, he took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. "Oh, god." This was easily one of the best and most unexpected days of his life. All he'd been doing was walking along, coming back from class, and then Tess had ran right into him . . . fate. Had to be. Didn't it?

He really liked her.

He changed into Max's clothes, feeling slightly awkward in them. Max was taller, so the sweatpants were too long. He had to roll them up to keep them from dragging on the floor. Max's looser t-shirt only served to make Kyle look chubbier than he was. Plus, he was still soaked from the rain. He felt like a fat, wet bulldog. Dammit.

He came out of the bathroom self-consciously with his own clothes in hand, and when he saw the clothes that Tess had changed into, he was instantly aroused. "Whoa." She was now parading around wearing short, light pink shorts and a white, long-sleeved shirt.

"What?" she asked self-consciously. "Do I have humidity hair?"

"Oh, no, it's just . . . being here in you—your house . . ." _Freudian slip._ "Most girls wouldn't invite a guy they barely know inside. Inside the house." He chuckled, wishing he wasn't such a stammering idiot. "I must look really harmless."

"You do," she said. "Or maybe I'm just too trusting."

"Oh, no, no." He watched her sit down at her kitchen counter and take out a drawing pad. She was sketching something with colored pencils. "You draw?" he asked curiously.

"I design," she clarified. "Interior design major."

"Oh, me, too." He cringed, wondering why he would say such a dumb thing. "Except that I'm an art major."

"Totally different things."

"Yeah." He sighed heavily, suddenly thinking about how _they _were two totally different things. She was beautiful and popular and _not _a spaz. He, on the other hand, was amazingly un-cool and undeniably nervous.

"Well, it looks like the rain's letting up, so . . ." He trailed off, thinking it best not to overstay his welcome. He had already ramped up the geek-o-meter significantly today. He figured he'd better get out with a shred of coolness intact.

"Okay," she said. "Thanks for the ride."

"Thanks for the clothes." Although they looked horrible on him. "I'll bring 'em back tomorrow."

"No rush," she said. "Max probably won't even be by for awhile. He's gonna be Mr. Business with his dad tonight, and probably tomorrow night, and the night after that and the night after that . . ." She let her sentence fade and sighed disappointedly. "I'll see you, Kyle," she said. "Drive safe."

"You, too," he said as he backed towards the door.

She looked confused. "I'm not driving anywhere."

"Well, that's what I mean."

She made a face.

_Oh, god what am I saying? _he wondered. _Get out now!_ "Bye!" His voice came out high-pitched and shrill, and he gave a dumb little wave.

"Bye," she returned, laughing at him a little.

He slipped out the door and breathed another sigh of relief and amazement in the safety of the hallway. He'd been in Tess Harding's apartment, and sure, it hadn't been sexy or romantic or perfect by any means, but still . . . he'd been in Tess Harding's _apartment._

"_Yes!_" He leapt down the hallway and tripped over his own feet in a flurry of excitement.

...

Kyle knew exactly where he was going after he left Tess's apartment that day. Not back to his own apartment. _Au contraire_, the Guerin-DeLuca residence was his destination. He was absolutely high on life, and he needed to tell his best friend all about it.

He stepped off the elevator on the fifth floor just as Maria was coming out of 521. She was wearing a black leather mini-skirt and a low-slung gold halter that actually looked like a bunch of sequins glued together instead of any fabric.

"What're you dressed for, a night of prostitution?" he asked as he walked past her.

"No, a party," she replied.

"And the difference?"

"Uh!" she grunted, disappearing around the corner.

Whether she was heading out to a frat house or a street corner, Maria being gone was a good thing. Kyle didn't want her to know about his feelings for Tess. She and Tess weren't friends right now, but they would be friends again someday, and Maria liked to talk. If she knew, it would only be a matter of time before she let something slip . . .

"Michael, I need to talk to you," he announced as he swooped inside his friend's living space. He saw Michael standing in the living room behind his easel, staring at something on his canvas. His body remained relatively motionless and his facial expression relatively neutral, showing no indication that he had even heard Kyle come in.

"Hey, earth to Guerin," Kyle said, tripping over Maria's shoes (which were inconveniently lying right out in the middle of the floor) as he tried to make his way over to his friend. He was such a klutz sometimes. "Are you even listening to me?"

"No," Michael mumbled in response.

"Come on, you're gonna wanna hear this. It's really good, I promise. _Oh . . ._" Kyle trailed off emphatically when he stood beside Michael and saw what he was staring at. It was a picture of . . . well, it must have been of Maria, lying on the very same couch that was mere feet away from them now, covered only by a sheet. It sounded sexy in theory, but what Michael had painted was far from it. Or maybe he hadn't painted it. Maybe that was why it was so bad. "Did you paint that?" he asked.

"Yeah."

"So, what, you're illustrating a comic book or something?"

Michael gave him a warning look. "No."

"Graphic novel?"

"No."

"Oh. Well . . ." Kyle cringed, not sure what to say about something that sucked so entirely. "It looks really . . . unique."

"It sucks. You can say it."

"No, it . . . alright, it sucks," Kyle admitted.

Michael sighed heavily and went to sit down on the couch. "So what're you freakin' out about?"

"No, I'm not freaking out," Kyle said, sitting down beside him. "Well, maybe a little. You are not gonna believe the _righteous_ day I had today."

"Righteous?"

"Uh-huh."

"Like church?"

Kyle made a face. "No. The other kind of righteous, the kind where you think to yourself, 'Hey, you know, this might be one of the greatest moments of my life.' You know why? 'Cause I _never_ thought it would happen."

"What're you talkin' about?"

"Let me set the scene for you, alright? It's raining—since when does it rain in Santa Fe?—and I'm walkin' along, just mindin' my own business. Just got done with class. I was feelin' pretty crappy 'cause I got this lousy grade on my midterm paper for English and-"

"Kyle, just spit it out."

"No, you don't understand. I can't just spit it out, 'cause this is huge, okay? This is . . . about me, about something I've been keeping secret from everyone for awhile now. This is something you can't _possibly_ know."

"Kyle, what're you saying?" Michael both looked and sounded mildly afraid. "Are you trying to say that you're-"

"I'm in love with Tess," he blurted, a huge smile on his face.

Michael just stared at him for a moment before he said, "Uh-huh."

...

Maria skipped her English class and went to Walgreens that day instead. Normally she would have gone shopping somewhere where she could burn a hole in her (or someone else's) wallet, but this wasn't so much a shopping spree as it was an errand. For a week now she had meant to stop by Walgreens and pick up a few fun but affordable decorations for Michael's birthday party. (His twenty-first birthday was quickly approaching.) Just some streamers, some balloons, maybe a happy birthday banner and some confetti. She didn't want the party to be too childish, but at the same time, she wanted it to be a little cliché. She'd never gotten to plan a birthday before. She needed birthday decorations.

She yawned, still recovering from the party she had attended last night, and trudged around the store looking for some kind of birthday aisle. First she found the Christmas aisle, glorious as ever, and on the other side of that was the birthday aisle. And standing right in the midst of that aisle with her hair pulled up in two curly, _ditzy_ ponytails was Tess.

"What're you doing here?" Maria asked, freezing in place.

Tess shot her a death glare and asked the same. "What are _you_ doing here?"

"Shopping."

"For what, the morning after pill?"

"Not this time. I mean _no_." Realizing that Tess had tricked her into that one, she muttered bitterly, "Bitch."

Tess rolled her eyes. "Whatever. I don't even have time for you."

"Oh, yeah, your _hectic_ schedule." Maria went to stand beside her, surveying some of the decorations. _White balloons. Hmm, if only they were longer; they'd suffice for condoms._

"I've got Graphic Communication in an hour. You see, unlike you, I actually make it to class."

"And unlike _you_, I actually make it to orgasm," Maria retaliated. "Graphic Communication. What the hell is that anyway, like dirty talk? 'Oh, professor, you're so huge. Stick it in me. Am I communicating graphically enough for you?'"

"It's communication with actual graphics," Tess explained. "Get your mind out of the gutter. Oh, wait, your mind lives there."

"Yes, it does, and it likes it there," Maria informed her. She spied the perfect metallic happy birthday banner hanging right in front of her next to the white balloons, and she reached for it; but just as she was reaching for it, Tess reached for it, too. They each grabbed onto one end and tried to seize it from each other. There wasn't another one just like it.

"Hey!" Tess yelped. "Give that back!"

"I saw it first," Maria claimed.

"No, you didn't. I was here first," Tess reminded her.

"Well, I'm cuter, so . . ."

"Oh, in your _dreams_!"

"Just . . . give it!" Maria pulled on the banner for the sake of competition more than anything else. She didn't want Tess to have it. "I need it more than you do."

"Uh-uh!"

"Yeah-huh. It's Michael's birthday Friday." She pulled on the banner once more, and it ripped right in half, right between the B and the I of birthday.

"Great!" Tess barked. "Now look what you did."

"Me? You were the one who ripped it!"

"How am I supposed to plan Michael's birthday party without a happy birthday banner?"

Maria wrinkled her forehead, confused by what she had just heard. "Wait, wait, wait, you think _you're_ throwing Michael's birthday?"

"I am," Tess said confidently.

"No, I am."

"With what, your half a banner? Happy B-?"

"Well, it's better than –irthday."

"I'm throwing Michael's party," Tess said confidently. "You can't stop me."

"Shut up," Maria grumbled, upset by this recent development. She had been looking forward to this. Hell, it was going to be part of her present to him since she was too cheap to buy a real one. She made a sound of distress low in her throat and threw her half of the banner down on the floor and stormed off to find Michael. Tess followed her with her half of the banner still in hand.

...

Michael sat in his art history class, dutifully taking notes and trying not to nod off while the his professor rambled on and on about something to the entire lecture hall of students. All of a sudden, just as the professor began to talk about the Italian Renaissance, the door to the lecture hall opened, and two familiar figures flew inside.

"Michael!" both Maria and Tess gasped, out of breath as though they had been in a hurry to get there.

He froze, staring at them, wondering what the hell they were up to now. Individually, they were wild. Together, they were hurricanes.

"Where is he?" Maria said, looking around the lecture hall almost frantically before spotting him. "Oh, there he is. Hey, Michael!"

"Michael!" Tess echoed. She held up a banner that said –irthday and exclaimed, "Happy birthday!"

_Hmm,_ he thought, _and all this time I thought I was born on the 14__th__._

"Well, happy early birthday," she amended upon seeing his confusion.

"That's actually what we need to talk to you about," Maria said, stepping in front of Tess.

"Right now," Tess emphasized, bumping Maria aside with her butt.

"Right now," Maria agreed, bumping Tess in return. The two of them both stood there, looking all haughty and high and mighty, and he still didn't understand why they were there.

"I'm in class," he pointed out, embarrassed that his friends were interrupting the entire lecture hall.

Maria grunted. "So?" Before he could utter a response, she looked up into the back of the lecture hall and waved at somebody she knew. "Oh, hi, Brad." And then she just kept waving. "Hey, Marcus. Oh, Paul, is that you? You've gotten so much sexier since we did it. Hey, Dan. Oh, hey . . . sorry, forgot your name."

The professor cleared his throat and said, "Ladies, if you don't mind, we're in the middle of a discussion . . ."

"Yeah, I'm sure it's riveting," Maria muttered sarcastically. "Michael." She gestured emphatically for him to join her and Tess out in the hallway. "_Come on_."

"Come on," Tess resounded. "Michael . . ."

"_Michael . . ._"

He gave his professor an apologetic look and set his textbook and notebook down on the floor. "I'll be right back," he promised, rising to his feet. He slid out of the row of seats and walked down the stairs to the front of the auditorium to slip outside into the hallway to find out what crazy mischief his friends were getting into now.

"Alright, what the hell-"

"Did you tell Tess she could throw you a birthday party?" Maria asked in a rush of breath.

"What?" He couldn't even understand her.

"A birthday party," she repeated.

"I'm throwing you one," Tess piped up.

"No, _I'm _throwing you one." Maria spun around to glare at Tess. "God, could you _be_ any more annoying? Get a life!"

"I have a life. I have a boyfriend, I have a major, I have a career ahead of me . . ."

"Would you two just shut up?" Michael interjected loudly. "You're givin' me a headache."

"You have to choose," Maria told him, looking at him with wide, lively eyes.

"Choose? Choose what?"

"Who's gonna throw your birthday party!"

Tess smiled confidently. "I think he'll choose me. I'm his friend."

"Well, I'm his friend and roommate, so he'd _better_ choose me." She sort of growled out the last part, and that scared him.

"You're only his roommate because he's too nice to kick you out," Tess told her. And it was probably true.

Maria stomped her foot in frustration. "Michael, I'm seriously gonna lose my marbles if you don't tell this-this little _slutbag_ here . . ."

"Slutbag?!" Tess shrieked. "Oh, this coming from the girl who was just like, 'Hey, Brad. Hey, sexy Paul. Hey, whatever-your-name-is.'"

"They're _acquaintances_."

"They're STD transmitters."

"Oh my god, I had a _little_ bit of syphilis that _one time_; and you had it, too!"

"Only because what's his name from remedial science class got it from you first."

"Well, that's what you get for being so eager to get down on your knees."

"You are such a hypocrite!"

Michael rubbed his forehead, contemplating whether or not this was hell, and concluding that it was while Maria and Tess kept yelling back and forth between each other. Finally, he decided to just go back into the classroom and just leave them to their dispute. He had his hand on the door handle when they realized what he was doing. Each grabbed an arm and pulled him back.

"Where do you think you're going?" Maria demanded.

"Yeah, you have to choose," Tess said. "A Tess Harding party, which would be casual and contemporary, totally your style, or a Maria DeLuca party, which would be a kegger with cake."

"Choose, Michael," Maria ordered.

He glanced back and forth between the two of them, suspicious of their motives. This probably had little to do with his birthday and more to do with having something to do on Friday night. "Why do you guys even care? Why are you throwing me a party?"

"Because," Tess replied simply.

"Because," Maria likewise said. She and Tess exchanged a look, and she added, "You're turning twenty-one just this once, and you deserve a party."

"A Tess Harding party."

"A Maria DeLuca party. Far superior."

Michael kept looking at the two of them, and it didn't take him long to decide. It was pretty obvious what he had to do if he was to ever regain his sanity. He weighed out the pros and cons for each of them to hear. "Alright, well, Maria's got a point. She _is_ my roommate. She's still trying to repay me for motivating her on that macroeconomics test."

"That's right!" she exclaimed.

"Of course, Tess has a point, too. Keggers are kinda your thing, not so much my thing. And if I remember correctly, the last party you threw resulted in the two of us picking up used condoms off the floor." He cringed.

Maria smiled nervously. "And it was fun."

"Now, on the flipside, there's Tess. And she's probably right. Her party would be more my style. Plus, she's an interior design major, so we know the decorations would be kick-ass."

"Hmm." Tess smirked. "Kick-ass."

"But, I don't know, if I piss Maria off . . . she'll punish me."

Maria grinned. "You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

He realized what she was talking about and made a face. "What? No, no. God. Okay, here's what I want: I want Maria to plan my birthday party."

Her face lit up in a smile.

"And I want Tess to plan it with her."

Her face fell into a frown. "_What_?"

"Yeah, what?" The two girls stared at him with shock-filled eyes and jaw-dropped mouths.

"There you go," he said. "I've made my decision." He smiled at them, praying to _God_ that they would work out some of their issues over the next few days, and turned to walk back into his lecture auditorium.

"Well, re-decide," Maria told him.

"Yeah!" Tess called after him in agreement. "Re-decide! Michael!"

...

Maria let out a loud groan and sat down at a table outside the Student Union with her caramel macchiato in hand. "I can't believe he didn't decide to re-decide. Bastard."

Tess sat down across from her with her mocha in hand and said, "Look, it doesn't have to be this huge deal. It's a birthday party. It's not exactly rocket science."

"Oh, but Tess, everything above two plus two is rocket science for you." Maria smirked.

"Oh, yeah? Well . . . everything above one plus one is rocket science for you," Tess retorted.

"Everything above zero plus zero's rocket science for you, so there." She stuck out her tongue childishly.

"God, you always have to have the last word." Tess rolled her eyes in annoyance and shook her head. "Whatever. Can we just get started and get this over with?"

"If you would ever stop babbling."

Tess groaned and lay a spiral notebook down on the table. She opened it up to a blank page, took out a hot pink pen, and wrote _Michael's B-Day _at the top of the page, underlining it not once, not twice, but three times, each line perfectly parallel to the others. Maria watched in amazement as she doodled a couple of hearts and flowers, then looked up and said, "Okay, first order of business, the decorations."

Maria made a face. "The decorations? That's the easy part. Since you destroyed my first choice happy birthday banner, we'll have to find another one, but it shouldn't be too hard. Get a few balloons, a few streamers . . . that's all you really need. You don't even need any of that, technically."

"Sure you do," Tess argued. She began writing and talking out loud as she did. "Pink balloons and pink streamers . . ."

"Oh, no, not pink," Maria cut in vehemently.

"Why not?" Tess asked innocently.

Maria grunted in disbelief. "God, for someone who wants to be an interior designer, you sure have a lot to learn. Tess, use your very small brain and realize that pink is not a guy's color, and this is a guy's birthday party."

"But pink's the best color," Tess protested. "I learned all about color's role in perception in psychology last semester. When you think of pink, you associate it with love and harmony and all these wonderful things."

"Actually, when I think of pink, I think of you," Maria informed her. "And then I throw up."

Tess slammed her pen down on her notebook and said, "Well, if you're so smart, what should our color theme be?"

"Black and blue," Maria replied quickly.

"Why? Do we want the party to look like it got beat up?"

"Fine, then throw in a little white for good measure. My point is, they're masculine colors."

"They're not very festive."

Maria growled in annoyance and decided to _try_ to meet Tess in the middle. For once. "Fine, green then."

"Green," Tess mused. "Well, as long as we keep it from looking too intergalactic, it should work." She crossed out the word _pink_ on the paper in front of her and replaced it with _green_. "Uh, what else? Music?"

"Better let me take care of that. I've both seen and heard your CD collection. It's pretty much hideous."

Tess's mouth dropped open in offense. "Don't even. Britney Spears is classic and you know it."

Maria thought about it, about how many Britney tunes she _constantly_ had stuck in her head, and she shrugged in admittance. "Well, that's true; she is. But Jessica Simpson is another story."

Tess smiled fondly and said, "You know, she did go into that sophomore slump with her second album, but then she picked it up on the third, ventured into songwriter territory, really reignited my interest in the pop scene in general."

"Garage band," Maria blurted suddenly as an idea occurred to her. "Yeah, you know, we could have live music. That'd be pretty neat."

"How are we gonna get live music?"

"I know these guys who've been playing together for, like, a year. They're pretty good. They do covers of songs and stuff."

"How do you know them?"

She smiled. "I slept with the drummer. And the bassist, actually. And the lead singer. _And_ the guy who plays the tambourine."

"Tambourine?"

"Yeah, musicians are sexy. Actually, all creative guys are sexy. And if a guy's creative in everyday life, you know he's gonna be creative beneath the sheets." She grinned. "That must be how Michael kept Isabel as long as he did. They're so not a match otherwise."

"Probably," Tess agreed. "I hate girls like her, you know, who act all sweet and nice on the outside just to conceal their inner bitch."

"Yeah," Maria agreed. "At least you and I are upfront about it."

"Yeah," Tess agreed. "Okay, so you'll take care of the music . . . better not screw it up."

"I won't. But I probably will screw up the tambourine player again, if you know what I mean."

"You're so . . ." Tess trailed off, sighing, and shook her head. "Next order of business: the cake. What kind should we get? I'm thinking . . . vanilla."

"Chocolate," Maria blurted at the exact same time.

"Chocolate?" Tess echoed. "Ever heard of too much of a good thing? That's what chocolate cake is."

"Vanilla? Ew. It's so . . . vanilla."

"It's, like, the kind of cake that _everyone_ likes," Tess pointed out.

"But chocolate cake is sexier and tastier," Maria reasoned.

"Look, I already compromised on the music. You should compromise on the cake," Tess suggested. "Half and half. Fifty percent chocolate, fifty percent vanilla."

"Seventy-five percent chocolate, twenty percent vanilla," Maria persisted.

Tess made a face. "What's the other five percent?"

"What?" _Seventy-five percent and . . ._ "Oh, dammit, I can't do math. You know what I mean."

"Half and half," Tess repeated. "Okay?"

Maria sighed in resignation. "Fine."

"Good." Tess kept jotting notes down and said, "Let's see, what else is there?"

Maria took a sip of her macchiato and replied, "Stripper."

"What?"

"Yeah. Come on, Tess, you gotta think like a guy."

"But Michael's not a guy," Tess said. "He's . . . Michael. He's not into that sort of thing."

"Um, he hasn't gotten laid since Isabel left," Maria pointed out. "I'd say a stripper's pretty much a necessity."

"He's not gonna have sex with a complete stranger."

"He will if we get him drunk enough."

"He doesn't drink."

"He doesn't drink _much_, but he does drink," Maria informed her. She'd seen him drink with her own eyes. Twice now. Once a few years ago, and once at the Halloween party. It was really an unnatural sight to say the least. "Okay, so here's what I'm thinking: we spike Michael's drink, make him, like, completely non-resistant. The stripper fucks him right and proper, and he's much, much happier from here on out." She smiled, liking her idea.

Tess stared at her, open-mouthed, incredulous. "You're completely crazy."

Maria rolled her eyes. "Fine, we won't spike his drink. But we _do_ need a stripper. Even if it doesn't result in sex for the birthday boy . . . all good parties have them."

"Oh my god," Tess muttered. "Fine, I'll let you get the stripper."

"Actually, I already have someone in mind," Maria said. "You remember those strippers I had at my nineteenth birthday party, Paulo and Monique?"

"Oh, yeah." Tess's face lit up. "That was a fun party."

"I know. Anyway, I ran into Monique the other day. She's either fat or pregnant, but she told me her little sister Monica's started stripping; if she's anything like Monique, Michael won't be unsatisfied."

"Fine, Monica the stripper," Tess decided. "Let's move on, please. Um . . . I guess we should figure out who we're gonna invite."

Maria shrugged. "Everyone."

"Uh, don't you think Michael would prefer something a little smaller?"

"Michael would prefer to be curled up on the couch spending his birthday watching the news," Maria informed her. "We need to get him to come out of his shell."

"I just think a lot of people tends to result in a lot of craziness," Tess explained, "and he didn't seem too happy about that last time with the Halloween party."

"That Halloween party kicked ass," Maria informed her, "until you and Max got there."

"That was when the party started," Tess shot back. "Okay, we'll talk guests later, because that's gonna take awhile, and I have class in ten minutes."

"Sickening."

"Oh, one last thing, though," Tess added. "Where are we having this party? We can't have it at Michael's place. He won't like that."

"Um, FYI, it's Michael's and _my_ place," Maria reminded her, "okay? And, uh . . . actually, I hate to admit it, but you're probably right. Maybe we should have the party at our place." She caught her slip-up and quickly corrected herself. "_Your _place."

"It's pink, though. You were anti-pink."

"Oh, fuck," Maria swore. "Well, maybe Marty . . ."

"_No_ Marty," Tess decided emphatically. "He'll make me listen to Celine Dion songs again, and I can't handle it. Besides, his place is like a whorehouse for gay men."

"Oh, this is true," Maria agreed.

"Maybe Max-"

"Oh, don't even finish that sentence!" Maria shrieked. "I will _never_ ask Max for anything remotely resembling help. We are not having the party at his place."

"It was just a suggestion," Tess said, "and unless you can come up with something better . . ."

Maria thought about it for a moment, and then it dawned on her: _Kyle._ Kyle's apartment was a great place for a party. It was just as nice as Michael's and spacious enough that the band would have room to set up. "I've got it," she proclaimed proudly. "Do you remember Kyle Valenti? We went to that party with him that one time."

"Everyone says that, but I don't remember," Tess said. "But yeah, I do know who he is. I've been running into him lately. He's Michael's friend, right?"

"Yeah, they're best friends, and Kyle lives in the apartment right next door to Michael and me. It's, like, the perfect place to have a party. I don't even know why I didn't think of it before. I'm so mentally challenged."

"Gotta agree with you on that," Tess mumbled. "Well, there we go. You can just talk to Kyle and make sure he's cool with it."

"Yeah . . ." Maria thought of Kyle's hopeless crush on Tess, and even though she knew it wouldn't do any good, she saw an opportunity to help push him forward in his efforts. "You know what, maybe you should be the one to suggest it to him," she said.

"Me?" Tess echoed.

"Yeah. Something tells me he'll be a lot more responsive to you than he'd be to me."

Tess gave her a confused look and agreed to it. "Okay. I mean, if you guys don't get along or something . . ."

"Oh, it's not that."

"I'll talk to him," Tess said, closing her notebook. "Well . . . you know, I actually think we . . . might have gotten something accomplished here." She smiled, seeming surprised by that. "I didn't think it was possible, you know, but we kind of . . . work well together. Maybe."

Maria grunted. "Speak for yourself. I'm still pissed about the cake compromise."

Tess laughed a little and stood up with her notebook and her coffee in hand, her purse slung over her right shoulder. "I gotta get to class. We'll . . . talk later."

"Yeah." Maria remained sitting, watching her walk away. This party-planning with Tess had almost felt like old times. _Almost_. Of course, once Michael's birthday had come and gone, they would go back to being the way they were. There was just a certain point where two people realized they couldn't be best friends anymore, and she and Tess had already reached that point. It wasn't as if they could go back now. It wasn't as if she wanted to.


	14. Chapter 14

Michael didn't know why he bothered trying to explain how he was feeling about the whole Maria/Tess/impending twenty-first birthday situation to Kyle that afternoon. Kyle had a one track mind, so naturally he was envious of Michael's predicament.

"So do you see what I'm saying?" he said as he paced back and forth across his living room. "Those two girls can't make nice, and since I'm friends with both of 'em, I get put in the middle. I'm sandwiched between Maria and Tess and they're fightin' over me. It's horrible."

"Really?" Kyle managed. "'Cause if you ask me, it sounds awesome."

"No, it's . . . would you focus?"

"I am focused. Go on."

"So I told them to plan the party together, because the sooner they work out whatever the hell their issues are, the sooner I can regain a little of my sanity. And won't that be nice."

"Right, right. But back to Maria and Tess . . ."

"Right. Well, we'll see how it goes. I'm pretty much relying on Tess to keep the party from getting too wild, and I'm pretty much relying on Maria to keep the party from getting too pink." He groaned and raked one hand through his hair. "I didn't even want a birthday party. And it's not even about my birthday, really. They just wanna have a party. Or a competition. This is a game, and they just wanna win. I'm like the prize or something."

"Oh, you ungrateful son of a bitch."

"Do you have any idea what it feels like to just be this piece of meat that two crazy girls are fighting over?"

"I wish I did." Kyle leaned forward and folded his hands. "Michael, you need to take a step back and realize something: the things you just said conjure up about every porn fantasy in the book."

"What book?"

"The-my mental book, okay? Do you know how often I fantasize about being 'sandwiched' between Tess and Maria? Or Tess and Isabel. Or Tess and Liz. Or Tess and Uma Thurman."

"Uma Thurman?"

"Or Tess and some miraculous twin version of Tess. Oh my god."

"Yeah, you like the girl; I get it." Michael sighed and plopped down beside his friend on the couch. "Man, my life used to be simple, you know? Calm. Quiet. And then Maria moved in with me, and she and Tess can't get along anymore, and I'm still tryin' to get over Isabel, but apparently I can't 'cause I can't paint anything decent these days. And my parents barge in long enough to take part in Woodstock 2008. That was actually kinda fun. But if they're not here, then Maria's mom is, and she thinks I'm a sex addict. And then there's Marty, and I swear to God that guy's gonna rape me someday. And you, too."

"You think?"

"Oh, yeah. And I can't even do something so simple as paying attention in art history. You know why? Oh, 'cause I had to decide who would plan my birthday party. You know, all I wanted to do the night of my birthday was curl up on the couch and watch the news. Or _something_."

"Oh, you'll be doing something," Kyle assured him. "Probably Maria."

"Yeah," he agreed without really realizing what he was agreeing with. "Wait, what did you say?"

Kyle chuckled. "It's only a matter of time, you know. Livin' under the same roof. Kinda . . . some glimpses of nudity here and there, sharing the same bed . . . it's gonna happen. And when it does, you should be thanking your lucky stars, because you don't deserve it."

Michael made a face and spat, "What-what-what're you _talking_ about? What the hell's your problem? Why are you always thinking about sex?"

Kyle shrugged. "What else am I supposed to think about?"

"And me and Maria? Are you-are you high or something?"

"I'm just calling it like I see it."

Michael laughed. Loudly. That was the most ridiculous thing he'd ever heard. "Right. Let's not forget, this is the girl who makes me want to _voluntarily _ check myself into the insane asylum."

Kyle grinned. "Ah, the best kind."

"I don't exactly see sex in our future."

"A sexless life is no way to live," Kyle told him. "_Trust me_."

Michael resisted the urge to make jokes at the expense of his friend's virginity. Hell, until Isabel, he'd been in the same v-card boat.

"Can't you just picture it, though?" Kyle had the stupidest grin stretched out on his face. "In a perfect world, or at least _my_ perfect world . . . Max breaks up with Tess. I ease on in for the kill."

"The kill? She's not quail."

"Well, you know what I mean. So one minute she's crying, the next minute she's fallin' in love with me. And _sex_ ensues. Lots of it. And so in the perfect world, Maria and Tess become friends again, you and Maria become more than friends . . ."

"Oh, god."

"Yeah, I can see it now. Some double dates and stuff. Maybe play-dates for the children."

"The children? Oh, no, Maria and I would produce some truly terrifying offspring. I'm sure of it."

Kyle laughed in agreement. "Yeah, spiky-haired and psychotic."

"Yeah." Michael laughed, too. "Well, what about you and Tess? A pervert who likes pink. That'd be your kid."

"Yeah."

They were both still laughing when the door to the apartment flew open and Maria stormed inside.

"Oh, here we go," Michael muttered.

She planted herself in front of him and glared down at him. "Michael," she growled. "I am _very_ mad at you."

"Okay." He didn't care.

"I'm serious. _Forcing _me to work with Tess . . . you so obviously want us to mend fences or whatever, but it's not gonna happen. I've recently discovered that I'm smart, you know, and I'm smart enough to know what you're thinking. You're thinking, 'Hey, Maria and Tess can rekindle their friendship, Maria can move back in with her, I can go back to being a big, boring loser in this apartment all by myself, moping over Isabel, painting landscapes . . .'"

"As opposed to cartoon paintings of you."

"Well, it's a start. For your information, buddy, I'm not going anywhere. Tess and I are not gonna go back to being BFFs. Ever. So this little scheme of yours isn't gonna work out."

"Scheme? I never had a scheme. Although it's a pretty good idea."

She grunted. "Whatever. This is just . . . cruel and unusual punishment is what this is."

"And what am I punishing you for?"

"I don't know. Probably something stupid, like the fact that I threw out your favorite pair of jeans."

That caught his attention. "What? My . . . my favorite pair of jeans?"

"Yeah."

"The ones with the white paint stains on 'em?"

"I still say they look like cum-spots."

"Maria!" he yelled. "You threw them out?"

"You didn't know?" It seemed to dawn on her that she had just thrown herself under the bus, because she smiled nervously and began to slink off towards the bedroom. "Never mind."

"Wait, Maria." He sprung up off the couch and hurried after her. "Maria!"

"It's only a matter of time!" Kyle called after him. "Only a matter of time."

"Would you shut up?" Michael whirled around and roared, at his rope's end with the both of them.

Kyle just pointed a finger at him and cackled.

...

_What am I doing here?_

Liz asked herself that question over and over again as she stood outside the door to Max's apartment—or rather his penthouse _suite_ in his father's hotel. Whatever. She had no reason to be there. She had seen Max at the tutoring center yesterday, and they had argued. Sort of. And flirted. Sort of. They couldn't do one without doing the other.

What_ am I doing here?_

She knew it was in her best interest to stay away from Max for awhile, at least until he and Tess were kaput. And they would be soon. Once she and Tess began their tutoring and she could start to drop subtle hints about Kyle, about what a great guy he was . . . Tess would stray. Because she didn't love Max. She couldn't. She didn't even know him.

_Please tell me I'm not venturing into stalker territory._

Liz hated that Max could do this to her, make her feel so greedy and dark and manipulative all at once. She hated that she wanted him more than _anything_. She hated that she didn't hate him and that he made her feel alive.

She was just about to turn and walk away, still not sure why her feet had taken her there in the first place, when the door opened and Max grinned at her.

"How'd you know I was out here?" she asked. "God, that's so creepy."

"Security cameras," he explained, pointing to a barely-noticeable camera perched above the door to his suite. "I was hoping you'd come by. And I was hoping you'd wear those jeans." He licked his lips, making no effort to mask his frank sexual intrigue.

"I don't know what I'm doing here," she admitted, suddenly wishing she'd worn something like sweatpants and a t-shirt. But Max would probably find a way to interpret that ensemble as sexy, too.

"Come inside," he invited, opening the door wide, gesturing grandly toward the interior of his accommodations.

"I don't think that's such a good idea," she practically whispered, wishing that her feet would just back up down the hallway. But instead, they inched forward until, suddenly, almost against her will, she found herself inside Max's suite, wishing he was inside of her.

_I hate you. I hate you,_ she thought, hoping that if she told herself that enough, she would start to believe it. _I hate you, Max._

_I don't hate you._

"So," he said, shutting the door. "What brings you here?"

"I told you, I don't know," she growled. "I was just . . . in the neighborhood." She cringed after the words left her mouth, hating the lame excuse in a way that she could never hate the man in front of her no matter how hard she tried.

"In the neighborhood?" Max chuckled. "Nice."

"Shut up."

"I can't. I like hearing myself talk."

She rolled her eyes. "Max-"

"Liz." He slowly strode towards her, menacingly, almost like a predator, and she felt so hot for him. She wanted to feel this way with someone else. _Anyone_ else. If only she'd felt this way with Kyle . . . he was so sweet and kind, just a genuinely nice guy, and Max wasn't any of those things. Max was . . .

_Max._

"I'm gonna start tutoring Tess today," she told him just for the sake of having something to say.

"Fascinating."

"I could break you guys up so easily, you know," she proclaimed, not sure whether that was true or not. "All I'd have to do is tell her how you look at me, talk to me. Some of the things you say . . ."

"Slicken your nether regions?" He grinned. "No, you won't do that. You like this too much."

"Oh, do I?" She tried to hold onto her defiance. It was all she had left.

"Yeah." He stood right in front of her, invading her personal space, and reached out to tuck her hair behind her ear. "It's a fair day outside, don't you think?" he said out of nowhere.

She frowned, confused. "What?"

"Yeah. Don't you think it's _a fair_ day?" He laughed quietly at himself.

She made a face of disgust. "Nice wordplay, Max."

"Thank you."

"I'm not doing this," she said more to herself than to him. "You really think you're _that_ irresistible? God's gift?"

"Well . . . yeah." He chuckled again and moved in even closer to her, slipping his knee in between her legs. "Come on, Liz. Don't be a cock-block."

"I don't want you."

"Keep telling yourself that."

"I don't need you."

"Liar."

"And I _definitely_ don't love you."

He shrugged. "That's fine by me. In fact, that's my preference." He leaned in closer to her, his face nearing hers, his breath even mingling with hers, and she thought she might die and love it. "Liz," he whispered, "all you have to do is . . . let me in." He lifted his knee upward to brush against her core.

"Uh," she choked out, knowing this was wrong. Their proximity, their conversation, their feelings . . . so wrong on so many levels; and therefore, the only thing that felt right to her. But still . . .

"No," she said determinedly, pushing him away from her. "_No_." She wasn't going to do this. She couldn't. She had to wait until Max and Tess were over. That way she could start something up with Max _without _damaging her semi-clean, semi-innocent image. She didn't want anyone to know how dark she could be, and if she did this with Max . . .

"I have to get out of here." She pushed past him, still unsure what had possessed her to show up at his place at all. Stupid. It was a stupid thing to do, and she was regretting it. She really was.

She marched toward the door in a fit of fury and tried not to like it when he chased after her.

"Liz-"

"Screw you, Max."

"Liz, wait." He grabbed her by the arm and pulled her back to him just as she was reaching for the door. He crashed his lips onto hers like a freight train, and she wasn't shocked because she'd known it was coming. It was the whole reason why she'd shown up there in the first place. She kissed him back, determined that her mouth wouldn't lose its feud with his. Her body lost its tenseness, and she melded into him, reveling in the feel of his arms wrapping around her body, pulling her close. So wrong.

His tongue entered her mouth, a beloved intruder, and electric sparks seemed to shoot through her body. She balled his shirt up in her fists, as enraged as she was aroused, and fought to maintain her balance, loving the fact that simply _kissing_ Max could sweep her off her feet.

He tore his mouth away from hers abruptly, leaving her yearning, and pressed his forehead against hers, already panting for air. Her hands, on their own accord, began unbuttoning his shirt, pulling it open to reveal his smooth, sculpted chest. He shrugged the shirt onto the floor and worked quickly to return the favor to her. He grabbed onto the bottom of her shirt and tugged it upward, yanking it off almost violently and throwing it down on top of his. She smiled mischievously and reached back to undo her bra herself. She let it fall to the floor and then shook her hair out, feeling free even though she was only half-naked.

He stared at her in utter desire for a moment, then swept her up into his arms, mating his naked chest to hers, and carried her through his living room to his pristine kitchen. She whimpered, not out of pain, but rather suspense. She'd been expecting the bedroom, but this would definitely be amazing in a different way.

He set her down next to the kitchen table and spun her around so that her back was pressing against his chest. He took a minute to ground his erection against her; she could feel it right in the small of her back, hard and wanting, and she wanted it inside where it could do some _real_ good.

"Max . . ."

He brought his hand around to press his right index finger against her lips to silence her. She opened her mouth wider to take his finger inside, massage it with her tongue, and bite it savagely.

"Uh . . ." In one swift motion, he had reached in front of her to undo her jeans and push them down her hips. The cool air that greeted her backside was soon replaced by his big, warm hands. She moaned as he kneaded her flesh beneath his fingertips, and she stumbled out of the jeans, now pooled at her feet.

_So _wrong.

"You want me to fuck you?" he whispered hotly in her ear.

"Uh, yes," she managed, too turned on to say anything more.

"Say it." He began urging her miniscule thong downward in the same direction her jeans had gone.

"I want you to fuck me."

"I can't hear you."

"_Fuck_ me." She was growing impatient.

He sort of half-laughed, half-growled. "Alright." He put his hands on her shoulders and pushed her forward so that she was bent over, pressed against the table. She gasped at the contrast of the cold metal on her flushed skin and listened to the sound of Max's zipper sliding down. He pushed his jeans and boxers down to about knee-level, then grasped his length in his hands and rubbed it up and down along her folds.

"Leg up," he instructed.

She lifted one leg to rest on the table, spreading herself more for him, giving him greater access. "Oh god," she moaned when she felt the tip of his cock pressed against her entrance. "Max, please."

Instead of doing what she wanted, he ran his free hand up along her back to tangle in her hair, massaging her scalp seductively.

_Dammit,_ she thought. He was going to torture her if he kept this up. She tried to push her hips backward to envelope more of his manhood, but it was no use. He was the one who had the control here. He always did. "Max . . ."

He bent over her to press a surprisingly tender kiss to her left shoulder blade. It felt incredible in its own right, but she needed more. Her libido was absolutely screaming and _aching_ for him. "Max . . ."

Without warning, he plunged inside of her, changing the very reality in which she lived to the reality in which the only things that existed were herself, her man, and the sex they were having.

He didn't even give her a moment to re-adjust to the feel of him, his size. He started moving right away, rapidly, expertly. His thrusts hit her like grenades of pleasure, one right after another, and she was begging for more.

"Oh!" She cried out as he slid in and out of her. At one point, he was so far in that she could have sworn he was _becoming_ her. Her body broke out in a sheen of sweat and her breathing came in ragged pants when he pulled on her hair, urging her to lift her torso up and really let him ride her. She felt like an animal. Hell, she _was_ an animal. And this, this thing that they were doing . . . it had little to do with making love and everything to do with fucking every inch of sanity away.

She came before he did, screaming his name and collapsing on top of the table. He gave a few final thrusts into her and came shortly after, spending himself inside of her. He fell on top of her, equally as sweaty and disgusting and exhausted, and still sheathed within her. "Huh," he said, laughing lightly. "That was wrong."

That was one way to describe it. She smiled.

...

"I think sex is an amazing thing," Marty blurted suddenly that night. He had invited himself over to hang out with Maria and, to some extent, Michael. Mostly, he probably just wanted to salivate over Michael's good looks.

"Well, that was random," Maria remarked as she flipped channels on the TV. Where was _Family Guy?_ She couldn't go a night without crude humor cartoons.

"I'm serious."

"No, I agree with you. It just came out of nowhere; that's all."

"Well." Marty leaned forward, blushing. "Actually, I was thinking about Paul, the guy I went out with last night. I'm a little bit nervous about him because he's not full-on gay. He's just bisexual."

"But he's into you, right?"

"Oh, I'd say so. We went back to my place last night, and . . ." He trailed off.

"Oh, he was on mountain time?" Maria filled in.

"_Brokeback_ Mountain time." Marty grinned. "I think I really like him. I might even settle down with this one for awhile."

"Well, good for you." As far as Maria was concerned, settling down was a waste of time, but she knew that Marty really wanted a steady boyfriend. "So what'd you say his name was? Paul?"

"Yeah, I think you know him, actually."

"Like, how much do I know him?"

Marty laughed. "Pretty well. Remember that bonfire this summer?"

"Oh my god, the bonfire. And Paul . . . the Paul I hooked up with at the bonfire. Oh my god, the one I just saw in Michael's art history class yesterday? He's gay?"

"I told you, he's bisexual. It's a completely different orientation."

"Oh my god, small world, Marty. I can see why you like him, though. He was really good. But now I'm all traumatized. What if I no longer attract straight men?"

"Well, let's find out. Michael!" Marty called into the kitchen. Michael was sitting at the counter with his face buried in a book for one of his classes. "Big Boy!"

Michael groaned and looked up from his reading. "What?"

"Are you attracted to my little sister?"

Michael made a face. "_What?_"

"No, he's Michael. He doesn't count," Maria said.

"Wait, why don't I count?"

"Because, you're . . ." She thought about it and decided he might as well answer the question now. Michael didn't exactly have the best taste in women, as was evidenced by Isabel "the bitch" Evans, but at least he had an eye for physical attractiveness. "Well, fine, if you wanna answer, go ahead. Are you attracted to me? You should be."

"No comment."

She grunted in disbelief. "No _comment_? That is just . . . unacceptable is what that is."

"Oh, don't mind her, Big Guy," Marty said, rising to his feet. He made his way over to Michael and sat down beside him. "She knows she's hot."

Maria smiled. "Hmm, I do know."

"Doesn't it freak you two out knowing you've boned the same guy?" Michael asked them. "Don't answer that."

"Doesn't it freak you out that you're almost an old man, old man?" Maria teased, turning off the TV.

"You're older than I am."

"Yes, but I have a lot to look forward to."

"And I don't?"

She shrugged and stood up. "Not really. I mean, the prime years of your sex drive are, like, right now. Mine will hit in my thirties."

"Oh, she's right," Marty said. "Men arrive at their sexual peak sooner than women. It's hardly fair. I can already feel my sex drive starting to taper off. Just a little bit, of course."

"How old are you?" Michael asked him.

"I don't like to talk about it," Marty whispered in a rush.

"Twenty-seven?" Michael guessed.

Maria winced.

"Twenty-five!" Marty cried. "Do I look twenty-seven? _Maria_!"

"You look twenty-five," she assured him. "Or maybe even twenty-four. You're extremely well-maintained."

"Thank you."

"I was just wonderin'," Michael said, tapping his pencil rhythmically on the open pages of his book. "That kinda sucks if it's true about the sex drive, though."

"It is," Maria assured him. "I learned it in psychology."

He gave her a look. "You mean you paid attention in a class?"

"Only to the sex stuff." She smiled.

He laughed a little. "Figures."

"It _really_ sucks for you, though," she said. "I mean, these are literally the days of your life, and you're not getting any." She shrugged. "You might have to resort to . . . you know, something like a stripper or something."

"Maria, if that's some subtle hint that you're hiring a stripper for my birthday party . . ."

"I never said that!"

"You didn't have to."

"Whoa," Marty cut in out of nowhere. "You're not getting _any_, Biggie? None at all? You mean your sexy-exy Isabella left you and you haven't rebounded?"

"He's like a virgin again," Maria proclaimed.

"Okay, first of all, her name's Isabel, not Isabell_a_. Second of all, I'm not a virgin."

"It's like you're a born-again virgin, only you didn't wanna be born-again; you just were," she elaborated.

"Gee, Maria, you really know how to make a guy feel good about himself."

"So I'm told. But rest assured, you'll feel better when you're birthday rolls around. It's gonna be full of beer and debauchery. It doesn't get much better than that."

"Oh, really? 'Cause it sounds like more of a party for you."

"Hey, give this girl some credit," Marty jumped in. "She knows how to plan a _fiesta_. I taught her well."

"It might not be my best party ever," she warned. "_Someone _forced me to collaborate with she who shall remain nameless."

"Ah, the Tess-mess," Marty registered.

"I said she shall remain nameless."

"And I came up with a cute little rhyme." Marty clapped his hands excitedly. "Anyhoo, how's that going, throwing this thing with her? Are you two clawing each other's eyes out, yanking out chunks of hair?"

"Not yet," Maria said. "Actually she _didn't_ drive me crazy the other day, which is miraculous. We actually came up with some good ideas."

"Can't wait," Michael muttered, still sounding less than enthused. "So where are we having this party, anyway? Not here."

"No, not here. And not at Tess's place, either. Too pink. You'll just have to wait and see."

"Wait and see?" he echoed. "Maria, I don't like the sound of this."

"Relax," she said. His escalating blood-pressure was practically _visible._ "Trust me, Tess has got this one covered." She couldn't fathom a scenario in which Tess _couldn't_ convince Kyle to transform his apartment into a party pad.

...

Tess knocked on the door to apartment 522 at the Fairview complex and waited for Kyle to answer. She tugged down on her pink, lacy shirt to reveal a little more cleavage. A little boobage was always convincing.

When Kyle opened the door, he was showing off some skin, too. He was wearing only sweatpants, and his chest had some paint on it. "Whoa. Tess," he said.

"Whoa. Kyle," she mimicked.

"Sorry, I meant to say hey. It just came out as . . . whoa, Tess."

"Gotcha." She glanced into his apartment to make sure he was alone and asked, "Can I come in?"

"In? Sure, yeah, you can . . ." He opened his door wider, and she stepped inside.

She surveyed his apartment. It was a lot like Michael's, same general set-up, furniture in about the same places. It wasn't as neat and clean as Michael's, though, although now that Maria was living with Michael, cleanliness probably wasn't an option.

"Perfect," she said, smiling a little. This was the perfect place for Michael's birthday party.

"How are you?" Kyle asked, shutting the door. Before she could answer, he asked another question. "What're you doin' here?"

"Which question do you want me to answer first?"

He laughed a little.

"I'm fine," she told him. "And I just thought I'd stop by. I hope I'm not interrupting anything." She gestured to the paint smears on his naked chest.

"Oh, no, I was just painting." For a minute, a look of alarm crashed across Kyle's features. He ran over to what appeared to be his painting station over in the corner of the living room and threw a sheet over his canvas. Tess caught a glimpse of what he was painting, a pretty girl who looked a lot like Christina Aguilera during her "Genie in a Bottle" phase. _Hmm._

"I should probably put a shirt on," Kyle mumbled to himself.

"Don't worry, you're fine," she told him. In fact, Kyle looked surprisingly good sans shirt. He was a nerdy guy, but he didn't have the stereotypical nerd body. "Look, Kyle, I just wanted to thank you again for giving me a ride home the other day. You know, during the rainstorm."

"Oh, yeah, it was no problem," he assured her, an excited look on his face. "You know, if you ever need me to give you a ride . . . a ride _home_, a ride _to your house_—to your apartment—I can . . . I can do that. I'm a very, very good driver."

"Mmm-hmm." She smiled and nodded, amused by his nervous rambling. "So . . . I have a confession to make. I kind of have an ulterior motive for being here."

"You do?"

"Yeah. I'm guessing you know that Michael's birthday's coming up."

"Oh, yeah, tomorrow. Big twenty-one. I heard you and Maria are planning his party."

"Yeah. Well, I mean, we're trying, anyway. We actually decided on a lot of things the other day, but one of the things we were talking about is where we're actually gonna have the party. You know, we can't have it at Michael's place, because that won't make him too happy."

"That's for sure," Kyle agreed.

She kept on with her subtle asking approach. "And we would have it at my place, but . . . well, you saw it. It's not exactly masculine, and Michael's a guy, so . . . I don't know, Maria mentioned you, and I know you're a really nice guy; so I was wondering if maybe you might be willing to . . ."

"Yes."

She made a face. "I didn't even ask the question."

"You wanna have Michael's birthday party here at my place," he filled in. "Yeah, of course. That's fine."

"Really?" She smiled. This had been easier than she'd imagined. "Well, that's great. Thank you, Kyle."

"Hey, it's nothing. Michael's my friend, and I'd love to be able to help you out. You and Maria."

"Well, we appreciate it," she assured him. "Now, it might get a little wild—you know how Maria is. But I'll do my best to make sure it stays under control."

"Hey, I'll let you guys have free reign, you know," Kyle said. "You do whatever you want."

"Even if what we want includes a live band?" She winced as she asked it, because she was afraid that would be too much for Kyle.

"That's awesome. Can you two plan my birthday?"

She laughed. "Well, when is it?"

"Ah, not for awhile."

"Well, you remind me, and I will," she promised. "Kyle Valenti birthday bash, on the to-do list."

"Oh, no, you don't really have to."

"I will," she promised again. "You're so nice to me, Kyle."

"Nicer than Max?"

She frowned, unsure whether or not she'd heard him correctly. "Excuse me?"

"Nothin'," he said quickly.

"Okay." _That was weird,_ she thought. But then again, Kyle was a weird kid, or at least he seemed that way. "Alright, well, do you have your phone? I can give you my number and we can be in touch before tomorrow."

"In touch?" He laughed a little. "Yeah . . . phone. Um . . . it's around here somewhere. Uh . . ." He shoved a stack of books and papers off his coffee table, searching for it. When he didn't find it there, he went over to his couch and started taking out the cushions to look underneath.

"Here, how about I just write it down for you," she suggested, taking a pen out of her back pocket.

"Right. Paper . . ." He tossed the couch cushions aside and bent down to rifle through the books and papers he had tossed on the floor. He ended up tearing a page out a textbook for her to jot down her number on. "There you go."

She smiled, finding it refreshing to be around a guy who _wasn't _so sure of himself. Kyle was an absolute spaz, but that worked for him. She jotted down her cell phone number and gave the paper back to him. "Call me tomorrow afternoon. Maria and I should be ready to come by and start setting up then."

"Sounds great."

"Okay. Thanks again, Kyle. This is really great of you."

He smiled. "Oh . . ."

"I'd better go," she said, starting for the door.

"You can stay, if you want. There's a Tom Hanks movie marathon on tonight. _Forrest Gump_; it's a classic."

"I've got tutoring today," she informed him. "Your ex-honey, actually, is gonna help me pass biology."

"Oh. Liz?"

"Yeah. And she strikes me as the punctual type, so I don't wanna be late."

"Oh, I see."

"But I'll see you tomorrow, alright?"

"Alright. See ya."

"Bye." She smiled at him and slipped out of the apartment. Once she shut the door, she pulled her shirt back up again. Kyle was so eager to help her out that cleavage hadn't even been a necessary. For some reason, he was just so easy to persuade.

...

Liz's eyes flickered open, and the first thing she saw in front of her was Max's bare chest. She jolted awake, propping herself up on her elbow, and surveyed the beautiful naked body next to her. Max was resting on his side, still asleep. She hadn't anticipated any of this happening. Secretly, she had hoped for it, yearned for it. And feared it. She had never done something like this before. She had been with her fair share of guys over the past year, ever since Max had first taken away her virginity, but never had she slept with someone who was seeing someone else. She had sunk to a new low, and she couldn't say she was proud of herself.

_Oh my god, what time is it?_ she thought, suddenly remembering that she had plans for the day. She twisted around to look at the clock on the bedside table, and her eyes nearly bulged out of her head when she saw what time it was. "Oh, shit," she swore, jumping out of the bed. She rushed out into the living room to retrieve her clothes. They were littered on the floor with Max's. _God,_ she thought as she dressed, _if Tess had shown up, she wouldn't have even had to see me and Max together to know what was going on_. Those discarded clothes were evidence enough. They had been really stupid. _Really_ stupid and outrageously passionate.

"Where you goin', baby?"

She had just finished fastening her jeans when she heard Max's voice. She turned around and saw him standing in the doorway to the bedroom, completely naked. "I'm supposed to be tutoring Tess right now."

He laughed a little. "Ironic."

She bent down to pick up her shirt, making an annoyed face. "Don't start with me, Max."

"Oh, I already started with you," he reminded her. "In fact, I finished. Three times."

She yanked her shirt on and focused on finding her shoes. Where had they gone? Why did sex between her and Max always result in tornado-like destruction?

"You fuck like no other, Liz," he said, slowly pumping his length in his own hand. "You can almost keep up with me."

Tears stung her eyes, and she wasn't sure why. "Almost," she choked out. It was true. No matter how hard she tried, Max always had the control, the upper hand. He could always get her to give in to his desires, because they were her desires, too, and he was just so smooth.

"You're such a bad girl now," he remarked.

She always had been. Now she was just pushing the boundaries. "Drop dead, Max," she bit out, finally finding her shoes.

"What, are you into necrophilia?" He grinned.

She made a face of disgust, slipped her feet into her sandals, and stormed towards the door.

"Hey!" he called after her. "Don't tell Tess I was inside you!"

She left his suite, knowing she wouldn't. She didn't want to be the otherwise nice girl who got _caught_ being a bitch. She wanted to be the girl who got away with it.

...

Tess could tell Liz was frazzled from the moment she showed up at the tutoring center. She came stumbling through the door, looking only halfway put-together, sounding out of breath. "Hey," she said as she sat down next to Tess. "Hey, sorry, I'm late."

Tess glanced at the time on her cell phone and remarked, "You're twenty minutes late." She was a little angry about that. Punctuality wasn't exactly her strong point, either, but she had managed to show up on time. This was Liz's _job_. She was getting _paid_ for doing this. And wasn't she supposed to be smart and responsible?

Liz cringed. "I know. I know. I . . . got lost on the way here."

Tess made a face, utterly confused by that claim. "You work here."

Liz froze for a moment, her mouth halfway open. "Right," she finally said. "Um . . . I meant to say that I . . . got stuck in traffic. Yeah, just lots of . . . cars all around. And some motorcycles. It was very . . . congested. Must've been game-day traffic or something."

Tess shook her head. "I don't think there's a game today."

"Tess." Liz sounded serious when she said her name, but she smiled pleasantly and apologized once more. "I'm sorry. I won't let it happen again. I promise, okay? I _promise_ this will never happen again."

_Well,_ Tess thought, _she sure sounds determined to keep that promise._ "Okay." She laughed a little, not sure what was up with her tutor. The girl had some definite quirks. "Your shirt's on inside out," she remarked, just now noticing that the letters on Liz's tight-fitted tee were backwards.

"Oh, I dressed in the dark."

Tess frowned. Why would anyone do that?

"We should get started," Liz suggested quickly. "It looks like you've already done that."

"Oh, no, I just opened the book and took all my notes out," Tess said, gesturing towards the heaping pile of biology crap in front of her.

"Well, that's a start," Liz said, leaning over to peer down at the materials. "You wanna explain to me what you've been studying?"

"Um, I would, except I can't," Tess told her. "I have all these notes, but I can't make sense of them, and I have this handy-dandy textbook, but I can't understand a word of it."

"Why not?"

"Because it's like a foreign language." How anyone _could_ understand science-speak was over her design-oriented head.

"You just have to break it down and try to understand a few concepts at a time," Liz told her. "Here, let's go through your notes and figure out what you've got written down . . ." She picked up one sheet of notebook paper and trailed off as she read over it. "What's this?" she asked, pointing towards something Tess had scribbled at the top of the page.

Tess squinted her eyes and tried to read her own handwriting. It said _Kyle._ "Oh, yeah, I had to go talk to Kyle today. That was my little self-reminder. Do you like how I doodled a little smiley face in the circle part of the E?"

Liz laughed a little. "Kyle Valenti?"

"Yeah."

"Why'd you go to see him?"

"Well, it's kind of a long story. Actually, it's not, really. Maria and I are throwing Michael a twenty-first birthday party. You know Michael, right? Michael Guerin."

"Um, barely."

"Well, we're throwing him this party, and we thought Kyle's apartment would be the perfect place to have it."

"And how's Kyle feel about that?"

"He's all for it."

"Really?"

"Yeah." Tess couldn't help but notice that Liz seemed surprised. "Is that unusual?"

"Well, Kyle's not exactly _Mr. Fiesta,_" Liz said. "But then again, he is a really, really, _really_ great guy, so it's not unlike him to lend a helping hand. You know, to lend a helping hand to somebody he cares about."

"Well, I barely know Kyle," Tess said, "but he was really easy to convince."

"Yeah. He's a sweet guy."

"Yeah," Tess agreed. "You know, come to think of it, you should come to the party. It's tomorrow night. It's gonna be really fun."

"Oh, I don't know," Liz said. "I don't know Michael all that well."

"Nobody does. He's not exactly a social butterfly. Maria's inviting, like, everyone she's ever met, so most of the people there aren't gonna know Michael. But you know me and you know Kyle. You should come."

"Um . . ." Liz bit her lower lip, still seemingly hesitant. "Maybe. We'll see. Do you-do you know who else is gonna be there?"

"Who else?" Tess frowned. What did she mean by that?

"Never mind," Liz said. "You know, we should probably get back to studying."

"Right," Tess agreed, "but think about the party."

"Okay," Liz said. "But for now, let's think about fungi."

"Ooh, fun." Tess peered down at her notes about fungi for the first time since . . . well, ever. But suddenly her phone shrieked out Britney Spears's "Womanizer" from inside her purse. "Sorry," she said, reaching inside to take it out. The caller ID showed it was Maria who was calling. "Just a minute." At this rate, she and Liz were never going to get their tutoring started.

...

Liz sat back and listened as Tess answered her phone.

"What? I'm in the middle of tutoring."

_Or the _beginning_ of tutoring,_ Liz thought. She would have been there on time had she not stopped at Max's place . . .

"No, Maria, seriously, let me take care of the cake."

Liz could faintly hear the vibration of her own cell phone in her purse. She reached down to open it while Tess kept yammering.

"Because I _know_ you. You'll get a chocolate cake and forget all about the vanilla." A slight pause and then . . . "Because you're evil, that's why!"

Liz flipped open her cell phone and was greeted with a new text message from none other than her source of sexual pleasure.

_I can't believe you came while I was up your ass_, it read. Max clearly wasn't romanticizing what they had done together. When she and Max were together, it had little to do with romance and everything to do with completely losing control. She was both disgusted and enthralled by the wrongness of it all. There was just something so combustible between the two of them, something that people wouldn't expect them to be able to create. Because, after all, as far as anyone was concerned, she was a nice girl. A little promiscuous sometimes, but still good and respectable at the end of the day.

Idiots.

"Ugh!" Tess groaned, throwing her phone back down into her purse. "She's so exasperating!"

Liz just kept staring down at the text message. She had slept with someone else's boyfriend . . . and that someone was sitting a mere foot away from her.

"You alright?" Tess asked.

"Yeah," Liz lied, plastering a semi-smile on her face as she deleted the text message and subtly dropped her phone back into her purse. "I'm fine."

...

Maria, Kyle, and Marty were already busy setting up Kyle's apartment for the night's big birthday bash when Tess arrived with the cake. She set it down on the kitchen counter and opened the box to reveal . . . exactly what Maria had expected to see. "It's not very chocolate-y," she remarked, crossing her arms over her chest angrily.

"Yeah, I don't know why that is," Tess said. "I told them half chocolate, half vanilla." She sighed and shrugged. "Blame the cake-maker."

"Oh, blame the cake-maker," Maria mimicked in a high-pitched voice. "I'll blame you. Vanilla _freak_."

Tess gasped and closed the box again. "Chocoholic!"

Before their elementary-ish argument could progress, they were interrupted by a loud, breathless sound: all the air coming out of Kyle's lungs. He sat in the living room surrounded by latex balloons, panting for air.

"Aw, wheezy Kyle," Maria said. "How you doin'?"

"Oh, I don't know how much more of this I can take," he replied in a single rush of breath.

"You're doing great," Tess encouraged him as she squeezed the cake into the refrigerator. "How many do you have done?"

Kyle took a look at all the balloons around him and shrugged. "Twenty-five, give or take."

"Oh." Maria nodded. "Almost halfway there."

"Almost?"

She smiled.

"_Oh,_" he groaned dramatically. "I can't . . . no, no, I just—I'm outta air. I can't blow anymore."

At the very moment he said that, Marty sauntered out into the living room with green party streamers in his hands. "Care to test that theory?" he said, grinning.

Kyle didn't seem to get it. "What?"

Maria laughed. "He's talking about giving head. He's such a perv."

Marty just smiled and shrugged unabashedly.

"Oh, god," Kyle wailed. "No, I meant . . . balloons. I can't blow balloons anymore."

Marty kept grinning. "Works for me."

"Oh, would you stop?"

Marty chuckled. "You know what homophobia _really_ says about you."

Maria glimpsed the look of anger in Kyle's eyes, and she knew it had to do with Tess being there to overhear the whole conversation. The last thing he could afford was to have her questioning his sexuality. "Marty, you're pushing him too far," she warned.

"My bad," Marty chirped, setting the streamers down on the coffee table. "We should play some Celine Dion."

"No!" Tess shrieked.

"We should . . . give Kyle more balloons to blow up," Maria said, smiling as she dropped another small sack of green balloons down on Kyle's lap.

He sighed again, looking defeated. "How did I get this job anyway?"

"You volunteered for it," Maria reminded him.

"Yeah," Tess agreed. "We said, 'Who's gonna blow up the balloons?' and you were like, 'Me, me, me! I wanna do the balloons!'"

"You got all excited," Marty added. "Cute little innocent look on your face. Balloons!"

"Balloons," Maria echoed, placing a one between Kyle's tired lips. "Blow," she instructed.

Reluctantly, he puffed air into the balloon and began working again.

"Good boy," she said. "Alright, the rest of us should probably start moving furniture. I guess the band's gonna set up by the window?"

"Sounds good to me," Marty said. "This is gonna be a great workout. Paul will be so pleased with my abs once I have some."

Maria laughed, and when she noticed that Tess wasn't laughing but rather looking down at her cell phone, she couldn't help but ask, "What's wrong?" She was just curious.

"Uh, Max just texted me. He got held up with his dad. He's not gonna be able to come help us set up."

"Oh, what a loss," Maria grunted. "Color me devastated. I'm sure he would've been a great supervisor, sitting back on his ugly ass barking orders at the rest of us like a slave-driver."

"He's not that bad," Tess insisted.

"Is that how you describe your boyfriend of two years? Not that bad?"

Before Tess could reply, the door to the apartment flew open and Michael burst inside, rattling off about something education-related.

"Kyle, did you have your art history notes from-"

"Oh, get out of here!" Maria yelled, charging at him.

"What-what's goin' on here?"

"Michael, leave!" She placed her hands on his chest, pushing him back towards the door.

"Is this my party? Kyle, are you in on this?"

Kyle's balloon slipped out of his mouth when he tried to answer and flew around the room, deflating.

"Get out of here!" Maria pounded her tiny fists against his chest, finally managing to get him to step out into the hallway. "Get out!"

"Hey, stop it," he said, grabbing her hands.

She shut the door, upset by his discovery. "Michael! You ruined it!"

"Ruined it? Ruined what?"

"The surprise party."

"I already knew it was happening," he reminded her.

"But you didn't know it was happening at _Kyle's_," she explained.

"Probably could've figured it out."

"No, you wouldn't have. We were being very sneaky," she assured him. "God, we were gonna blindfold you, and spin you around a lot, and then you were gonna walk in here, and everyone was gonna yell surprise when we took the blindfold off; and you were gonna be such a happy birthday boy." She frowned, upset that that whole idea was shot to hell now, all because of stupid art history notes Kyle probably didn't even have. Or if he did have them, they probably weren't legible because of all the inevitable 'I love Tess' doodles scrawled on top.

"I'll be a happy birthday boy," he told her.

"No, you won't. You're never happy."

"I can fake it. I can act like I'm surprised."

Her face lit up with excitement. "Oh, that's a good idea! I still get to spin you around, though."

"If you want to."

"I do. Here, let's practice." She walked behind him and reached up to place her hands over his eyes, a makeshift blindfold. "Okay, say we already spun," she said. "Now pretend I open the door, take off the blindfold . . ." She removed her hands, and he just stood there.

"What?" he asked.

"You're supposed to be practicing," she reminded him.

"What am I supposed to say?"

"I don't know. Just be like, 'ahhhh,' you know. Not like, ahhhh, I'm scared. Just like, ahhhh, I'm surprised," she explained. "Let's try again." She raised her hands to cover his eyes again. "Bend down a little. You're so tall."

He bent his knees, making it easier on her. "Better?"

"Yeah. Okay, so, surprise scene, take two. Spin around, open the door, off goes the blindfold . . ." She took her hands away again, and this time he played a long.

"Ahhhh . . . I'm so surprised."

...

"Surprise!"

Michael plastered a goofy grin on his face when Maria removed the blindfold and everyone jumped up in front of him. "Ahhhh, I'm so surprised," he recited, actually _truly_ surprised that Kyle's apartment was so packed. Probably just a lot of people who wanted to party, not necessarily celebrate his birthday.

"That acting's not gonna win any Academy Awards," he heard Marty mumbled to Tess.

"Mmm-hmm," she agreed, nodding her head.

He gave them an exasperated look. He didn't even _want_ this party in the first place. He was acting as much as he could.

"Happy birthday, Michael," Maria said, standing up on her tip-toes to give him a kiss on the cheek.

"Thanks." He smiled a little and decided to try to enjoy it. He might as well. His friends had gone through all that work to plan and decorate it for him.

"Happy birthday, Michael," Marty mimicked, coming forward with his lips puckered.

Michael pushed him aside.

"You like it?" Tess asked, giving him a quick hug.

"Yeah, thank you."

She smiled giddily. Kyle came up to him next and gave him a sort of manly hug. "Happy birthday, old geezer," he joked.

"Hey . . ." He wasn't _that_ old. And Kyle was only one year behind him.

"Alright, hit it, boys!" Maria called out to . . . the band? Michael had to do a double-take. There was a band set up in Kyle's apartment? For his birthday party? Upon Maria's command, they began to play an alternative rock beat.

Everyone scattered to either dance, get drunk, get sexual, or all of the above. Michael stood back, happy to _not _partake in any of the inevitable bad behavior.

"Do you really like it?" Tess asked again. "I bought the cake."

"I bought the balloons," Maria piped up.

"I blew up the balloons," Kyle mumbled.

"I hung up the streamers," Marty put in.

"I got the band," Maria proclaimed.

"I got you a gift." Tess smirked.

"I supplied the apartment," Kyle reminded them.

"I supplied the life of the party," Maria said, smiling proudly.

"What, the stripper?" Kyle asked.

She reached over and whacked him in the stomach, sending him a warning glare. But it was too late. Michael had heard everything.

"The _stripper_?" he shrieked. "You hired a stripper?"

"Maybe I did and maybe I didn't," she answered ambiguously. "But I was talking about me. _I'm_ the life of the party."

"I told her not to get a stripper. I knew you wouldn't like it," Tess said.

"Tess! Shut up!"

Marty cleared his throat, leaning forward to inquire, "Is it a male stripper, or-"

"No, honey."

"Didn't think so."

"Maria." Michael grabbed his roommate's arm and pulled her away from the others. If there really was going to be a stripper at his birthday party, then he was holding her responsible. "What were you thinking? You know I'm not into that kind of thing."

"I was just thinking that you must be _incredibly_ sexually frustrated," she explained. "And that's why strippers exist, you know?"

"No, Maria, that's why prostitutes exist."

"Well, I can get you one of those if you-"

"No, Maria." He bit his bottom lip to keep from swearing. "I don't want a stripper."

"She's not a stripper. She's just a-a dancer who likes to take her clothes off." She groaned, desperate for him to give in. "Come on, Michael. Live a little. Watching a stripper doesn't make you a scoundrel. It makes you normal. And it's not like you have to fall in love with her or even have sex with her. Just enjoy yourself. Is that so hard?"

It was. For him, it was. Especially since Isabel had left. He hadn't enjoyed himself for a long time, and to be honest, he still didn't see himself enjoying the stripper. But she was being adamant about it, and she always got her way.

"I thought you said you were the life of the party," he reminded her, resigning himself to the fact that he'd have a half-naked girl dancing all over him by the end of the night.

"I am," she insisted.

"Then why are you still standing here?"

She smiled. "I just had to get your mind into the gutter first."

...

Liz stood near the keg, sipping the remainder of her beer out of her red plastic cup and wishing that the guy talking to her would just shut up and go away. His physical appearance alone should have been a warning sign. Short, skinny, and fidgety. Not at all attractive. She wasn't surprised when he revealed his job to her: professional gamer.

"You see, that's what people don't understand is the _time_. You know, the time it takes to really work your way through the game. And I don't cheat, either, so if I'm playing something with levels and I get sent back to the start . . . well, then I'm back at the start. That's just the way it goes. So then it takes more time—oh, and precision. And coordination. Every gamer needs to have coordination."

_He's like a little fly that won't go away,_ she thought, swirling her beer around in the bottom of the cup. It didn't even taste good anymore.

"It's a sport, really," the guy went on. "And I'm an athlete."

"Mmm-hmm," she said, nodding slowly, forcing herself not to laugh out loud at that ridiculous claim.

"Yeah," he said as if to convince himself. He finally quieted down for a moment or two, looked her right in the eye, and seemed to realize that his flirtation tactics were all wrong. "You're not into me, are you?"

She scratched the back of her neck, feeling unable to lie. "No."

"Right." The guy looked embarrassed, but also used to it. "I'm just gonna . . . go over here," he said, smiling as he slinked away from her. _Thank God,_ she thought. There was only so much gamer talk she could take before she felt like killing herself.

She turned around towards the keg and refilled her cup with beer. Once the foam settled down, she took another sip, sort of despising the taste, despising the fact that the liquid wasn't making her feel any better. She stood back, drinking and observing all the wild and crazy people dancing in front of her, and out of the corner of her eye, she spied Max leaning back against the kitchen counter, his arms crossed over his chest, just standing back and overseeing the party rather than actually taking part in it. Kind of like her.

She refused to look at him too long.

"Hey, Liz."

She jumped and spilled some of her beer on her new satin shoes when Tess appeared out of nowhere beside her. "Oh, Tess," she said. "Hi."

"I'm glad you decided to come," Tess said. "Are you having fun?"

Now that she was facing Tess, she couldn't help but look at Max over her shoulder. _Dammit._ He was grinning at her. "I probably will be," she said.

"That's good." Tess filled up a glass of beer for herself and kept on chatting. "So, you see any guys you like?"

_And of course she would have to ask that question,_ Liz thought bitterly. "Um . . . not really," she lied. Although maybe it wasn't a lie. Actually, it was quite possibly true. She didn't _like_ Max. She hated him. Couldn't get enough of him, but hated him. Sort of.

"What about Kyle?" Tess said. "He's looking pretty cute tonight."

Liz perked up when Tess said that. "You think so?" That was good. If Tess was noticing Kyle . . . that was good.

"Yeah." Tess smiled. "Do _you_ think so?"

Liz's sighed, quickly realizing that she had been too eager to believe the best. "No—I mean, yes, but . . . Kyle and I aren't getting back together."

"Why not? I bet you two were a great couple back in . . . did you date in high school?"

"Yeah, and then we came to college and I . . ." She sneaked a glance at Max. ". . . met someone else. But the point is, we're two very different people, and even though he's a great friend, he'll never be anything more than a great friend. To me, at least. We just don't mesh well together, in the romantic sense. Besides, Kyle likes blondes." It didn't hurt to throw in that juicy tidbit.

"Hmm." Tess shrugged, not seeming to get the hint. She took a sip of her drink and said, "So all these y-chromosomes in the room, and you're not attracted to a single one of them?"

"Well . . ." Liz looked up at glance again, and for the first time that night, she returned his mischievous grin with a slight grin of her own. Tess remained completely oblivious. "Maybe one."

"There you go," Tess said. "You might wanna make a move on him by the end of the night." She smiled encouragingly and slipped back into the crowd of people, mingling, dancing a little.

Liz fake-smiled at her and kept her teeth clenched, thinking about all the moves she was going to make. "Oh, I will."

...

_She wants me to fuck her._ Max broke eye-contact with Liz, giving himself a mental pat on the back for his silent seduction. There was no way that girl could resist him. She craved him just as much as he craved her. It was the only reason why she had showed up at the dumb party. She didn't care about Michael's birthday (nor did he). It was all about the sex they would have.

A long train of drunk, dancing people sashayed by him, and Maria was part of that train. The guy behind her had already taken his shirt off and was grinding his erection into her backside. "Tequila!" he kept shouting. Maria didn't seem to mind.

"Slut," he remarked loud enough for Maria to hear.

She froze, stopping the entire train, and turned to face him. When the people behind her started to whine, she took herself out of the dancing train so they could continue on and came to stand in front of him, her eyes blazing with fury.

"Max," she said, leaning in surprisingly close to him. "There are a lot of people who can call me that."

Suddenly, he felt cold beer splash all over his face. She must have reached behind him and picked up his glass off the counter. _That bitch._

"You're not one of them." She dropped his empty glass next to his feet and whirled around to storm away. He stood there, slightly embarrassed to be covered in alcohol, and then he remembered Liz, remembered that his whole goal for the night had been to lose his clothes anyway. _Well, then,_ he thought, _this just works out perfectly._

He locked eyes with his mistress and slowly sneaked down the hallway, watching her watch him as he slipped into Kyle's bedroom, waiting for her to follow him.

It would be their little secret.


End file.
